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NlNA' GORDON k 


U v BY, ^HARRIET* BUCHER S^OWE 

CONTENTS 


OF VOLUME I. 


CHAPTER I. 

TUB MISTRESS OF CANEMA, “ 

CHAPTER II. 

CLAYTON, 18 

CHAPTER III. 

THE CLAYTON FAMILY AND SISTER ANNE, 80 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE GORDON FAMILY, . . 

CHAPTER V. 

HARRY AND HIS WIFE, 62 * ' 

CHAPTER VI. ( ^ 

HIE DILEMMA, - 80 

Cn APTER VII. 

CONSULTATION, 

CHAPTER VIII. 

OLD TIFF, 91 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE DEATH, 119 V 

v ; 

CHAPTER X. 

THE PREPARATION, • * 

i* 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. 



fag* 






CHAPTER XII. 






CHAPTER XIII. 



CHAPTER XIV. 


▲UNI NESBITT 



&rx> TTMTVT HI ADTVTAX 

CHAPTER XV. 


lla. JaRiI/d UrlAlur 

CHAPTER XVI. 


UNCLE JOHN 

CHAPTER XVII. 


DEED, 

CHAPTER XVIII. 


TUB CONSPIRATORS 

CHAPTER XIX. 

...J 


CHAPTER XX. 

SUMMER. TALK AT OANEMA, 


CHAPTER XX. 

SUMMER TALK AT OANEMA, 260 

CHAPTER XXI. 

TIFFS PREPARATIONS, 273 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE WORSHIPPERS, . . . 281 

CHAPTER XXTII. 

THE CAMP-MEETING, 


DEED 


CHAPTER I. 

THE MISTRESS OP CANEMA. 

“ B'lls, Harry ? — Yes. — Dear me, where are they ? — 
There ! — No. Here ? — 0, look ! — What do you think of 
this scarf? Is n't it lovely ? " . 

“ Yes, Miss Nina, beautiful — but — " 

“ 0, those bills! — Yes — well, here goes — here — per- 
haps in this box. No — that 's my opera-hat. By the by^. 
what do « you think of that ? Is n't that bunch of silver 
wheat lovely ? Stop a bit — you shall see it on me." 

And, with these words, the slight little figure sprang up 
as if it had wings, and, humming a waltzing-tune, skimmed 
across the room to a looking-glass, and placed the jaunty 
little cap on the gay little head, and then, turning a pirou- f 
ette on one toe, said, “ There, now I " ~ _ r 

“ There, now ! " Ah, Harry ! ah, mankind generally ! 
the wisest of you have been made fools of by just such danc- f ■ 
ing, glittering, fluttering little assortments of curls, pen- 
dants, streamers, eyes, cheeks, and dimples ! 

The little figure, scarce the height of the Yenus, rounded 
vs that of an infant, was shown to advantage by a coquet- 
tish morning-dress of buff muslin, which fluttered open in 
front to display the embroidered skirt, and trim little mouse 
of a slipper. The face was one of those provoking ones 
which set criticism at defiance, The hair, waving, curl- 


!• 


8 


THE MISTRE3S OP CANEMA. 


ing, dancing hither and thither, seemed to have a wild, 
laughiDg grace of its own; the brown eyes twinkled like 
the pendants of a chandelier ; the little, wicked nose, which 
bore the forbidden upward curve, seemed to assert its right 
to do so, with a saucy freedom ; and the pendants of mul- 
tiplied brilliants that twinkled in her ears, and the nodding 
wreath of silver wheat that set off her opera-hat, seemed 
alive with mischief and motion. 

“ Well, what do you think ? ” said a lively, imperative 
voice, — just the kind of voice that you might have ex- 
pected from the figure. 

The young man to whom this question was addressed 
was a well-dressed, gentlemanly person of about thirty-five, 
with dark complexion and hair, and deep, full blue eyes. 
There was something marked and peculiar in the square, 
high forehead, and the finely-formed features, which indi- 
cated talent and ability ; and the blue eyes had a depth and 
strength of color that might cause them at first glance to 
appear black. The face, with its strongly-marked expres- 
sion of honesty and sense, had about it many care-worn 
and thoughtful lines. He looked at the little, defiant fay 
for a moment with an air of the most entire deference and 
admiration ; then a heavy shadow crossed his face, and he 
answered, abstractedly, “Yes, Miss Nina, everything you 
wear becomes pretty — and that is perfectly charming.” 

u Isn’t it, now, Harry? I thought you would think so. 
You eoo, ib'o my own idea. You ought to have seen what 
a thing it was when I first saw it in Mme. Le Blanche’s 
window. There was a great hot-looking feather on it, and 
two or three horrid bows. I had them out in a twinkling, 
and got this wheat in — which shakes so, you know. It’s 
perfectly lovely I — Well, do you believe, the veiy night I 
wore it to the opera, I got engaged ? ” 

“ Engaged, Miss Nina ? ” 

“ Engaged 1 — Yes, to be sure 1 Why not ? ” 

' 4 It seems to me that ’s a very serious thing, Miss 
Nina.” 

+ • 


) 


THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA, 


9 


** Serious ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! ” said the little beauty, seat- 
1 mg herself on one arm of the sofa, and shaking the glit- 
tering hat back from her eyes. “ Well, I fancy it was — to 
j him, at least. I rnacj^ him serious, I can tell you ! ” 

“ But, is this true, Miss Nina ? Are you realty en 
| gaged ? ” 

“ Yes, to be sure I am — to three gentlemen ; and going 
to stay so till I find which I like best. May be you know I 
shan’t like any of them.” 

“ Engaged to three gentlemen, Miss Nina?” 

“ To be sure ! — Can’t you understand English, Harry ? 
I am now — fact.” 

I “ Miss Nina, is that right ? ” 

\ “ Right ? — why not ? I don’t know which to take — I 

\ positively don’t ; so I took them all on trial, you know.” 

\ “ Pray, Miss Nina, tell us who they are.” 

\ “Well, there’s Mr. Carson; — he’s a rich old bachdor 
l— horridly polite — one of those little, bobbing men, that 
ilways have such shiny dickies and collars, and such bright 
loots, and such tight straps. And he ’s rich — and per- 
fectly wild about me. He would n’t take no for an answer, 
jpu know ; so I just said yes, to have a little quiet. Be- 
sides, he is very convenient about the opera and concerts, 
an d\ such things.” 

‘V^Well, and the next ? ” 

“ Well, the next is George Emmons. He’s one of your 
pink-and-white men, you know, who look like cream-candy, 
as if they were good to eat. He ’s a lawyer, of a good 
family, — thought a good deal of, and all that. Well, 
really, they say he has talents — I’m no judge. I know 
he always bores me to death ; asking me if I have read 
this or that — marking places in books that I never read. 
He ’s your sentimental sort — writes the most romantic 
notes on pink paper, and all that sort of thing.” 

“ And the third ? ” 

“Well, you see, I don’t like him a bit — I’m sure 1 
don’t. He ’s a hateful creature ! He is n’t handsome ; he ’s 



10 


THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA. 


proud as Lucifer ; and I 'm sure I don't know how he got 
me to be engaged. It was a kind of an accident. He 's 
real good, though — too good for me, that 's a fact. But, 
then, I 'm afraid of him a little." 

“ A%d his name ? " 

“ Well-, his name is Clayton — Mr. Edward Clayton, at 
your service. He 's one of your high-and-mighty people — 
with such deep-set eyes — eyes that look as if they were 
in a cave — and such black hair ! And his eyes have a des- 
perate sort of sad look, sometimes — quite Byronic. He 's 
tall, and rather loose-jointed — has beautiful teeth ; his 
mouth, too, is — well, when he smiles, sometimes it really 
is quite fascinating ; — and then he 's so different from 
other gentlemen ! He 's kind — but he don't care how he 
dresses ; and wears the most horrid shoes. And, then, he 
is n't polite — he won't jump, you know, to pick up your 
thread or scissors ; and sometimes he '11 get into a brown 
study, and let you stand ten minutes before he thinks to 
give you a chair, and all such provoking things. He is n'1 
a bit of a lady's man. Well, consequence is, as my lore 
won't court the girls, the girls all court my lord — that \ 
the way, you know ; — and they seem to think it's such * 
feather in their cap to get attention from him— because, ydn 
know, he 's horrid sensible. So, you see, that just set me out 
to see what I could do with him. Well, you see, I wouldn't 
court him ; — and I plagued him, and laughed at him, and 
spited him, and got him gloriously wroth ; and he said 
some spiteful things about me, and then I said some more, 
about him, and we had a real up-and-down quarrel ; — and 
then I took a penitent turn, you know, and just went grace- 
fully down into the valley of humiliation — as we witches 
can ; and it took wonderfully — brought my lord on to his 
knees before he knew what he was doing. Well, really, I 
don't know what was the matter, just then, but he spoke 
so earnest and strong, that actually he got me to crying — 
hateful creature ! — and I promised all sorts of things, you 
know — said altogether more than will bear thinking o t." 


THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA. 


11 


** And are you corresponding with all these lovers, Miss 
Nina?” 

“Yes — isn’t it fun? Their letters, you know, can’t 
speak. If they could, when they come rustling together 
in the bag, would n’t there be a muss ? ” 

“ Miss Nina, I think you have given your heart to this 
last one.” 

“ 0, nonsense, Harry ! Have n’t got any heart ! — don’t 
care two pins for any of them ! All I want is to have a 
good time. As to love, and all that, I don’t believe I could 
love any of them ; I should be tired to death of any of 
them in six weeks. I never liked anything that long.” 

“ Miss Nina, you must excuse me, but I want to ask 
again, is it right to trifle with the feelings of gentlemen in 
this way ? ” 

“Why not? — Isn’t all fair in war? Don’t they trifle 
with us girls, every chance they get — and sit up so pomp- 
ous in their rooms, and smoke cigars, and talk us over, as 
if they only had to put out their finger and say, ' Come 
here,’ to get any of us ? I tell you, it ’s fun to bring them 
down ! — Now, there ’s that horrid George Emmons — I tell 
you, if he did n’t flirt all winter with Mary Stephens, and 
got everybody to laughing about her ! — it was so evident, 
you see, that she liked him — she could n’t help showing it, 
poor little thing ! — and then my lord would settle his col- 
lar, and say he hadn’t quite made up his mind to take her, 
and all that. Well, I have n’t made up my mind to take 
him, either — and so poor Emma is avenged. As to the old 
bach — that smooth-dicky man — you see, he can’t be hurt; 
for his heart is rubbed as smooth and hard as his dicky, 
with falling in love and out again. He ’s been turned off 
by three girls, now ; and his shoes squeak as brisk as ever, 
and he ’s just as jolly. You see, he did n’t use to be so 
rich. Lately, he ’s come into a splendid property ; so, if I 
don’t take him, poor man, there are enough that would be 
glad of him.” 

“ Well, then, but as to that other one ?” 



12 


THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA. 


"Wbat! my lord Lofty? 0, he wants humbling! — it 
would n't hurt him, in the least, to be put down a little. 
He 's good, too, and afflictions always improve good people. 
I believe I was made for a means of grace to 'em all." 

"Miss Nina, what if all three of them should come at 
once — or even two of them ? " 

" What a droll idea ! Would n't it be funny ? Just to think 
of it ! What a commotion ! What a scene ! It would 
really be vastly entertaining:" 

" Now, Miss Nina, I want to speak as a friend." 

"No, you shan't! it is just what people say when they 
are going to say something disagreeable. I told Clayton, 
once for all, that I would n't have him speak as a friend to 
me." 

" Pray, how does he take all this ? " 

" Take it ! Why, just as he must. He cares a great deal 
more for me than I do for him." Here a slight little sigh 
escaped the fair speaker. " And I think it fun to shock 
him. You know he is one of the fatherly sort, who is always 
advising young girls. Let it be understood that his stand- 
ard of female character is wonderfully high, and all that. 
And, then, to think of his being tripped up before me ! — it 's 
too funny ! " The little sprite here took off her opera-hat, 
and commenced waltzing a few steps, and, stopping mid- 
whirl, exclaimed: "0, do you know we girls have been 
trying to learn the cachucha, and I 've got some castinets ? 
Let me see — where are they?" And with this she pro- 
ceeded to upset the trunk, from which flew a meteoric shower 
of bracelets, billets-doux, French Grammars, drawing-pen- 
cils, interspersed with confectionary of various descriptions, 
and all the et-ceteras of a school-girl’s depository. " There, 
upon my word, there are the bills you were asking for. 
There, take them ! " throwing a package of papers at the 
young man. " Take them ! Can you catch ? " 

" Miss Nina, these do not appear to be bills." 

" 0, bless me ! those are love-letters, then. The bills are 
gomewhere." And the little hands went pawing among th 


THE MISTRESS OP CANEMA. 


13 


heap, making the fanciful collection fly in every direction 
over the carpet. “ Ah ! I believe now in this bonbon-box I 
did put them. Take care of your head, Harry ! ” And, with 
the word, the gilded missile flew from the little hand, and, 
opening on the way, showered Harry with a profusion of 
crumpled papers. “ Now you have got them all, excepi 
one, that I used for curl-papers, the other night. 0, don’t 
look so sober about it! Indeed, I kept the pieces — here 
they are. And now don’t you say, Harry, don’t you tell 
me that I never save my bills. You don’t know how partic- 
ular I have been, and what trouble I have taken. But, there 
— there ’s a letter Clayton wrote to me, one time when we 
had a quarrel. Just a specimen of that creature ! ” 

“ Pray, tell us about it, Miss Nina,” said the young man, 
with his eyes fixed admiringly on the little person, while he 
was smoothing and arranging the crumpled documents. 

“ Why, you see, it was just this way. You know, these 
men — how provoking they are ! They’ll go and read all 
sorts of books — no matter what they read ! — and then they 
are so dreadfully pai ticular about us girls. Do you know, 
Harry, this always made me angry ? 

“ Well, so, you see, one evening, Sophy Elliot quoted some 
poetry from Don Juan, — I never read it, but it seems folks 
call it a bad book, — and my lord Clayton immediately fixed 
his eyes upon her in such an appalling way, and says, ‘ Have 
you read Don Juan, Miss Elliot?’ Then, you know, as 
girls always do in such cases, she blushed and stammered, 
and said her brother had read some extracts from it to her. 
I was vexed, and said, ' And, pray, what ’s the harm if 
she did read it ? I mean to read it, the very first chance I 
get ! ’ 

“ 0 ! everybody looked so shocked. Why, dear me ! if 
I had said I was going to commit murder, Clayton could 
not have looked more concerned. So he put on that very 
edifying air of his, and said, ‘ Miss Nina, I trust , as your 
friend, that you will not read that book. I should lose all 
respect for a lady friend who had read that.’ 

2 


/ 


14 


THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA. 


“ ‘ Have you read it, Mr. Clayton ? ’ said I. 

“ ' Yes, Miss Nina/ said he, quite piously. 

“ 1 What makes you read such bad books ? ’ said I, very 
innocently. 

“ Then there followed a general fuss and talk ; and the 
gentlemen, you know, would not have their wives or their 
sisters read anything naughty, for the world. They wanted 
us all to be like snow-flakes, and all that. And they were 
quite high, telling they wouldn’t marry this, and they 
would n’t marry that, till at last I made them a curtsey, 
and said, ‘ Gentlemen, we ladies are infinitely obliged to 
you, but we don’t intend to marry people that read naughty 
books, either. Of course you know snow-flakes don’t like 
smut ! ’ 

“ Now, I really did n’t mean anything by it, except to put 
down these men, and stand up for my sex. But Clayton 
took it in real earnest. He grew red and grew pale, and 
was just as angry as he could be. Well, the quarrel raged 
about three days. Then, do you know, I made him "give 
up, and own that he was in the wrong. There, I think he 
was, too, — don’t you ? Don’t you think men ought to be 
as good as we are, any way ? ” 

“Miss Nina, I should think you would be afraid to ex- 
press yourself so positively.” 

“0, if I cared a sou for any of them, perhaps I should. 
But there is n’t one of the train that I would give that for ! ” 
said she, flirting a shower of peanut-shells into the air. 

“ Yes, but, Miss Nina, some time or other you must marry 
somebody. You need somebody to take care of the prop- 
erty and place.” 

“ 0, that ’s it, is it? You are tired of keeping accounts, 
are you, with me to spend the money ? Well, I don’t won- 
der. How I pity anybody that keeps accounts ! Is n’t it 
horrid, Harry ? Those awful books ! Do you know that 
Mme. Ardaine set out that ‘ we girls ’ should keep account 
of our expenses ? I just tried it two weeks. I had a head- 
ache and weak eyes, and actually it nearly ruined my con- 


THE MISTRESS OP CANEMA. 


15 


stitution. Some how or other, they gave it up, it gave them 
so much trouble. And what ’s the use ? When money ’s 
spent, it ’s spent ; and keeping accounts ever so strict won’t 
get it back. I am very careful about my expenses. I never 
get anything that I can do without.” 

‘‘For instance,” said Harry, rather roguishly, “this bill 
of one hundred dollars for confectionary.” 

“ Well, you know just how it is, Harry. It ’s so horrid 
to have to study ! Girls must have something. And you 
know I did n’t get it all for myself; I gave it round to all 
the girls. Then they used to ask me for it, and I could n’t 
refuse — and so it went.” 

“ I did n’t presume to comment, Miss Nina. What have 
we here ? — Mme. Les Cartes, $4150 ? ” 

“0, Harry, that horrid Mme. Les Cartes! You never 
saw anything like her ! Positively it is not my fault. She 
puts down things I never got, I know she does. Nothing 
in the world but because she is from Paris. Everybody is 
complaining of her. But, then, nobody gets anything any- 
where else. So what can one do, you know ? I assure 
you, Harry, I am economical.” 

The young man, who had been summing up the accounts, 
now burst out into such a hearty laugh as somewhat dis- 
concerted the fair rhetorician. ' 

She colored to her temples. 

“Harry, now, for shame! Positively, you are n’t re- 
spectful ! ” ^ 

“ 0, Miss Nina, on my knees I. beg pardon ! ” still con- 
tinuing to laugh ; “ but, indeed, you must excuse me. I 
am positively delighted to hear of your economy, Miss 
Nina.” 

“ Well, now, Harry, you may look at the bills and see. 
Have n’t I ripped up all my silk dresses and had them col- 
ored over, just to economize ? You can see the dyer’s bill, 
there ; and Mme. Carteau told me she always expected to 
turn my dresses twice, at least. 0, yes, I have been very 
economical.” 


16 THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA. 

“ I have heard of old dresses turned costing more than 
new ones, Miss Nina.” 

“ 0, nonsense, Harry ! What should you know of girls' 
things ? But I '11 tell you one thing I 've got, Harry, and 
that is a gold watch for you. There it is,” throwing a case 
carelessly towards him; “and there 's a silk dress for your 
wife,” throwing him a little parcel. “ I have sense enough 
to know what a good fellow you are, at any rate. I could n't 
go on as I do, if you did n't rack your poor head fifty ways 
to keep things going straight here at home, for me.” 

A host of conflicting emotions seemed to cross the young 
man's face, like a shadow of clouds over a field, as he 
silently undid the packages. His hands trembled, his lips 
quivered, but he said nothing. 

“ Come, Harry, don't this suit you ? I thought it would.” 

“ Miss Nina, you are too kind.” 

“ No, I 'm not, Harry ; I am a selfish little concern, that 's 
a fact,” said she, turning away, and pretending not to see 
the feeling which agitated him. 

“ But, Harry, was n’t it droll, this morning, when all our 
people came up to get their presents ! There was Aunt 
Sue, and Aunt Tike, and Aunt Kate, each one got a new 
sack pattern, in which they are going to make up the prints 
I brought them. In about two days our place will be flam- 
ing with aprons and sacks. And did you see Aunt Rose in 
that pink bonnet, with the flowers ? You could see every 
tooth in her head 1 Of course, now they '11 be taken with a 
Very pious streak, to go to some camp-meeting or other, to 
show their finery. Why don't you laugh, Harry ? ” 

“ I do, don't I, Miss Nina ? ” 

“You only laugh on your face. You don't laugh deep 
down. What 's the matter ? I don't believe it 's good for 
you to read and study so much. Papa used to say that he 
did n't think it was good for — " 

She stopped, checked by the expression on the face of her 
listener. 

“For servants, Miss Nina, your papa said, I suppose.” 


THE MISTRESS OF CANEMA. 


17 


With the quick tact of her sex, Nina perceived that she 
had struck some disagreeable chord in the mind of her 
faithful attendant, and she hastened to change the subject, 
in her careless, rattling way. 

“ Why, yes, Harry, study is horrid for yi u, or me either, 
or anybody else, except musty old people, who don’t know 
how to do anything else. Did ever anybody look out of 
doors, such a pleasant day as this, and want to study ? 
Think of a bird’s studying, now, or a bee ! They don’t 
study — they live. Now, I don’t want to study — I want 
to live. So, now, Harry, if you ’ll just get the ponies and 
go in the woods, I want to get some jessamines, and 
spring beauties, and wild honeysuckles, and all the rest 
of the flowers that I used to get before I went to school.” 

2 * 


4 . 


i 


* 4 


CHAPTER II. 

CLAYTON. 

The curtain rise! on our next scene, and discovers a 
tranquil library, illuminated by the slant rays of the after- 
noon’s sun. On one side the room opened by long glass 
windows on to a garden, ■‘from whence the air came in per- 
fumed with the breath of roses and honeysuckles. The 
floor covered with white matting, the couches and sofas 
robed in smooth glazed linen, gave an air of freshness 
and coolness to the apartment. The walls were hung 
with prints of the great master-pieces of European art, 
while bronzes and plaster-casts, distributed with taste and 
skill, gave evidence of artistic culture in the general ar- 
rangement. Two young men were sitting together near 
the opened window at a small table, which displayed an 
antique coffee-set of silver, and' a silver tray of ices and 
fruits. One of these has already been introduced to tho 
notice of our readers, in the description of our heroine in 
the last chapter. 

Edward Clayton, the only son, of Judge Clayton, and 
representative of one of the oldest and most distinguished 
families of North Carolina, was in personal appearance 
much what our lively young friend had sketched — tall, 
slender, with a sort of loose-jointedness and carelessness of 
dress, which might have produced an impression of clown- 
ishness, had it not been relieved by a refined and intel 
lectual expression on the head and face. The upper part 
of the face gave the impression of thoughtfulness and 
strength, with a shadowing of melancholy earnestness , and 


CLAYTON. 19 

there was about the eye, in conversation, that occasional 
gleam of troubled wildness which betrays the hypochondriac 
temperament. The fnouth was even feminine in the deli 
cacy and beauty of its lines, and the smile which sometimes 
played around it had a peculiar fascination. It seemed to 
be a smile of but half the man’s nature ; for it never rose 
as high as the eyes, or seemed to disturb the dark stillness 
of their thoughtfulness. 

The other speaker was in many respects a contrast , and 
we will introduce him to our readers by the name of Frank 
Russel. Furthermore, for their benefit, we will premise 
that he was the only son of a once distinguished and 
wealthy, but now almost decayed family, of Virginia. 

It is supposed by many that friendship is best founded 
upon similarity of nature ; but observation teaches that it 
is more common by a union of opposites, in which each 
party is attracted by something wanting in itself. In Clay- 
ton, the great preponderance of those faculties which draw 
a man inward, and impair the efficiency of the outward life, 
inclined him to over-value the active and practical faculties, 
because he saw them constantly attended with a kind of 
success which he fully appreciated, but was unable to 
attain. Perfect ease of manner, ready presence of mind 
under all social exigencies, adroitness in making the most 
of passing occurrences, are qualities which are seldom the 
gift of sensitive and deeply-t hough tful natures, and which 
for this very reason they are often disposed to over-value. 
Russel was one of those men who have just enough of all the 
higher faculties to appreciate their existence in others, and 
not enough of any one to disturb the perfect availability of 
his own mind. Everything in h’s mental furnishing was 
always completely under his own control, and on hand for 
use at a moment’s notice. From infancy he was noted for 
quick tact and ready reply. At school he was the universal 
factotum, the “ good fellow ” of the ling, heading all the 
mischief among the boys, and yet walking with exemplary 
gravity on the blind side of the master. Many a scrape 


20 


CLAYTON. 


had he rescued Clayton from, into which he had fallen from 
a more fastidious moral sense, a more scrupulous honor, 
than is for worldly profit either in the boy’s or man’s 
sphere ; and Clayton, superior as he was, could not help 
loving and depending on him. 

The diviner part of man is often shame-faced and self- 
distrustful, ill at home in this world, and standing in awe 
of nothing so much as what is called common sense ; and 
yet common sense very often, by its own keenness, is able 
to see that these unavailable currencies of another’s mind 
are of more worth, if the world only knew it, than the 
ready coin of its own ; and so the practical and the ideal 
nature are drawn together. 

So Clayton and Russel had been friends from boyhood ; 
had roomed together their four years in college ; and, tho’ 
instruments of a vastly different quality, bad hitherto played 
the concerts of life with scarce a discord. 

In person, Russel was of about the medium size, with a 
well-knit, elastic frame, all whose movements were charac- 
terized by sprightliness and energy. He had a frank, open 
countenance, clear blue eyes, a high forehead shaded by 
clusters of curling brown hair ; his flexible lips wore a 
good-natured yet half-sarcastic smile. His feelings, though 
not inconveniently deep, were easily touched ; he could be 
moved to tears or to smiles, with the varying humor of a 
friend ; but never so far as to lose his equipoise — or, as he 
phrased it, forget what he was about. 

But we linger too long in description. We had better let 
the reader hear the dramatis personae , and judge for himself. 

“ Well, now, Clayton,” said Russel, as he leaned back in 
a stuffed leather chair, with a cigar between his fingers, 
“ how considerate of them to go off on that marooning party, 
and leaye us to ourselves, here 1 I say, old boy, how goes 
the world now? — Reading law, hey ? — booked to be Judge 
Clayton the second ! Now, my dear fellow, if I had the 
opportunities that you have — only to step into my father’s 
shoes — I should be a lucky fellow.” 


CLAYTON. 


21 


“ Well, you are welcome to all my chances,” said Clay- 
ton, throwing himself on one of the lounges ; “ for I begin 
to see that I shall make very little of them.” 

“ Why, what ’s the matter ? — Don’t you like the study ? ” 

“ The study, perhaps, well enough — but not the prac- 
tice. Reading the theory is always magnificent and grand. 
* Law hath her seat in the bosom of God ; her voice is the 
harmony of the world.’ You remember we used to declaim 
that. But, then, come to the practice of it, and what do 
you find ? Are legal examinations anything like searching 
after truth ? Does not an advocate commit himself to one- 
sided views of his subject, and habitually ignore all the 
truth on the other side ? Why, if I practised law accord- 
ing to my conscience, I should be chased out of court in a 
week.” 

“ There you are, again, Clayton, with your everlasting 
conscience, which has been my plague ever since you were 
a boy, and I have never been able to convince you what 
a humbug it is ! It’s what I call a crotchety conscience — 
always in the way of your doing anything like anybody 
else. I suppose, then, of course, you won’t go into polit- 
ical life. — Great pity, too. You’d make a very imposing 
figure as senator. You have exactly the cut for a conscript 
father — one of the old Viri Romas.” 

“ And what do you think the old Viri Romas would do in 
Washington ? What sort of a figure do you think Regulus, 
or Quintus Curtius, or Mucius Scaevola, would make, there ? ” 

“ Well, to be sure, the style of political action has altered 
somewhat since those days. If political duties were what 
they were then, — if a gulf would open in Washington, for 
example, — you would be the fellow to plunge in, horse and 
all, for the good of the republic ; or, if anything was to be 
done by putting your right hand in the fire and burning ii 
off' — or, if there were any Carthaginians who would cut off 
your eyelids, or roll you down hill in a barrel of nails, for 
truth and your country’s sake, — you would be on hand for 
any such matter. That ’s the sort of foreign embassy that 


22 


CLAYTON. 


you would be after. All these old-fashioned goings on would 
suit you to a T ; but as to figuring in purple and fine linen, 
in Paris or London, as American minister, you would make 
a dismal business of it. But, still, I thought you might 
practise law in a wholesome, sensible way, — take fees, make 
pleas with abundance of classical allusions, show off* your 
scholarship, marry a rich wife, and make your children 
princes in the gates — all without treading on the toes of 
your too sensitive moral what-d'-ye-call-ems. But you 've 
done one thing like other folks, at least, if all 's true that 
I 've heard.” 

il And what is that, pray ? ” 

“ What 's that ? Hear the fellow, now ! How innocent 
we are 1 I suppose you think I have n't heard of your cam- 
paign in New York — carrying off that princess of little flirts, 
Miss Gordon.” 

Clayton responded to the charge only with a slight shrug 
and a smile, in which not only his lips but his eyes took part, 
while the color mounted to his forehead. 

“ Now, do you know, Clayton,” continued Russel, “ I like 
that. Do you know I always thought I should detest the 
woman that you should fall in love with ? It seemed to me 
that such a portentous combination of all the virtues as you 
were planning for would be something like a comet — an 
alarming spectacle. Do you remember (I should like to know, 
if you do) just what that woman was to be ? — was to have 
all the learning of a man, all the graces of a woman (I think 
I have it by heart) ; she was to be practical, poetical, pious, 
and: everything else that begins with a p ; she was to be 
elegant and earnest ; take deep and extensive views of life ; 
and there was to be a certain air about her, half Madonna, 
half Venus, made of every creature's best. Ah, bless us ! 
what poor creatures we are ! Here comes along our little 
coquette, flirting, tossing her fan ; picks you up like a great, 
solid chip, as you are, and throws you into her chip-basket 
of beaux, and goes on dancing and flirting as before. Are n't 
you ashamed of it, now ? ” 


CLAYTON. 


23 


“ No. I am really much like the minister in our town, 
where we fitted for college, who married a pretty Folly 
Peters in his sixtieth year, and, when the elders came to 
inquire if she had the requisite qualifications for a pastor’s 
lady, he told them that he did n’t think she had. * But the 
fact is, brethren,’ said he, ‘ though I don’t pretend she is a 
saint, she is a very pretty little sinner, and I love her. 7 
That ’s just my case.” 

“ Very sensibly said ; and, do you know, as I told you 
before, I ’m perfectly delighted with it, because it is acting 
like other folks. But, then, my dear fellow, do you think 
you have come to anything really solid with this little Venus 
of the sea-foam ? Is n’t it much the same as being engaged 
to a cloud, or a butterfly ? One wants a little streak of reality 
about a person that one must take for better or for worse. 
You have a deep nature, Clayton. You really want a wife 
who will have some glimmering perception of the difference 
between you and the other things that walk and wear coats, 
and are called men.” 

“ Well, then, really,” said Clayton, rousing himself, and 
speaking with energy, “ 1 ’ll tell you just what it is : Nina 
Gordon is a flirt and a coquette — a spoiled child, if you will. 
She is not at all the person I ever expected would obtain any 
power over me. She has no culture, no reading, no habits 
of reflection ; but she has, after all, a certain tone and quality 
to her, a certain ‘ timbre ,’ as the French say of voices, which 
suits me. There is about her a mixture of energy, individual- 
ity, and shrewdness, which makes her, all uninformed as she 
is, more piquant and attractive than any woman I ever fell in 
with. She never reads ; it is almost impossible to get her to 
read ; but, if you can catch her ear for five minutes, her liter- 
ary judgments have a peculiar freshness and truth. And so 
with her judgment on all other subjects, if you can stop her 
long enough to give you an opinion. As to heart, I think she 
has yet a wholly unawakened nature. She has lived only 
in the world of sensation, and that is so abundant and so 
buoyant in her that the deeper part still sleeps. It is only 


24 


CLAYTON. 


two or three times that I have seen a flash of this under 
nature look from her eyes, and color her voice and intona- 
tion. And I believe — I ’m quite sure — that I am the only 
person in the world that ever touched it at all. I ’m not at 
all sure that she loves me now ; but I ’m almost equally sure 
that she will.” 

“ They say,” said Russel, carelessly, “ that she is gener- 
ally engaged to two or three at a time.” 

“ That may be also,” said Clayton, indolently. tl I rather 
suspect it to be the case now, but it gives me no concern. 
I ’ve seen all the men by whom she is surrounded, and I 
know perfectly well there ’s not one of them that she cares 
a rush for.” 

“ Well, but, my dear fellow, how can your extra fastidious 
moral notions stand the idea of her practising this system 
of deception ? ” 

“ Why, of course, it'is n’t a thing to my taste ; but, then, 
like the old parson, if I love the ' little sinner/ what am I to 
do ? I suppose you think it a lover’s paradox ; yet I assure 
you, though she deceives, she is not deceitful ; though she 
acts selfishly, she is not selfish. The fact is, the child has 
grown up, motherless and an heiress, among servants. She 
has, I believe, a sort of an aunt, or some such relative, who 
nominally represents the head of the family to the eye of the 
world. But I fancy little madam has had full sway. Then 
she has been to a fashionable New York boarding-school, 

. and that has developed the talent of shirking lessons, and 
evading rules, with a taste for side-walk flirtation. These 
are all the attainments that I ever heard of being got at a 
fashionable boarding-school, unless it be a hatred of books, 
and a general dread of literary culture.” 

“ And her estates are — ” 

“ Nothing very considerable. Managed nominally by an 
old uncle of hers ; really by a very clever quadroon servant, 
who was left her by her father, and who has received an 
education, and has talents very superior to what are common 
to those in his class. He is, in fact, the overseer of her 


CLAYTON. 


25 


plantation, and I believe the most loyal, devoted creature 
breathing. 7 7 

“ Clayton, 77 said his companion, ** this affair might not be 
much to one who takes the world as I do, but for you it may 
be a little too serious. Don 7 t get in beyond your depth. 77 

“ You are too late, Russel, for that — I am in. 77 

“ Well, then, good luck to you, my dear fellow ! And 
now, as we are about it, I may as well tell you that 1 7 m in 
for it, too. I suppose you have heard of Miss Benoir, of 
Baltimore. Well, she is my fate. 77 

“ And are you really engaged ? 77 

“ All signed and sealed, and to be delivered next Christ- 
mas. 77 

“ Let 7 s hear about her. 77 

“ Well, she is of a good height (I always said I should n 7 t 
marry a short woman), — not handsome, but reasonably 
well-looking — very fine manners — knows the world — 
plays and sings handsomely — has a snug little fortune. 
Now, you know I never held to marrying for money and 
nothing else ; but, then, as 1 7 m situated, I could not have 
fallen in love without that requisite. Some people call this 
heartless. I don’t think it is. If I had met Mary Benoir, 
and had known that she had n 7 t anything, why, I should 
have known that it would n 7 t do for me at all to cultivate 
any particular intimacy ; but, knowing she had fortune, I 
looked a little further, and found she had other things, too. 
Now, if that 7 s marrying for money, so be it. Yours, Clay, 
ton, is a genuine case of falling in love. But, as for me, I 
walked in with my eyes wide open. 77 

“ And what are you going to do with yourself in the world, 
Russel ? 77 

“I must get into practice, and get some foothold there, 
you know ; and then, hey for Washington I — 1 7 m to be pres- 
ident, like every other adventurer in these United Stales. 
Why not I, as well as another man ? ” 

“I don 7 t know, certainly, 77 said Clayton, “if you want 
it, and are willing to work hard enough and long enough, 
3 


26 


CLAYTON. 


and pay all the price. I would as soon spend my life walk- 
ing the drawn sword which they say is the bridge to Ma- 
homet’s paradise.” 

“Ah! <r ah! I fancy I see you doing it! What a figure 
you ’d make, my dear fellow, balancing and po^Puring on 
the sword-blade, and making horrid wry faces ! Yet I know 
you ’d be as comfortable there as you would in political life. 
And yet, after all, you are greatly superior to me in every 
respect. It would be a thousand pities if such a man as 
you could n’t have the management of things. But our 
national ship has to be navigated by second-rate fellows, 
Jerry-go-nimbles, like me, simply because we are goDd in 
dodging and turning. But that ’s the way. Sharp ’s the 
word, and the sharpest wins.” 

“ For my part,” said Clayton, “ I shall never be what the 
vjorld calls a successful man. There seems to be one in- 
scription written over every passage of success in life, as 
far as I ’ve seen, — 1 What shall it jprofit a man if he gain 
the whole world, and lose his own soul ? ’ ” 

“ I don’t understand you, Clayton.” 

“ Why, it seems to me just this. As matters are going 
on now in our country, I must either lower my standard of 
right and honor, and sear my soul in all its nobler sensibil- 
ities, or I must be what the world calls an unsuccessful man. 
There is no path in life, that I know of, where humbuggery 
and fraud and deceit are not essential to success — none 
where a man can make the purity of his moral nature the first 
object. I see Satan standing in every avenue, saying, ‘ All 
these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and wor 
ship me.’ ” 

“ Why don’t you take to the ministry, then, Clayton, at 
once, and put up a pulpit-cushion and big Bible between you 
and the fiery darts of the devil ? ” 

“I’m afraid I should meet him there, too. I could not 
gain a right to speak in any pulpit without some profession 
or pledge to speak this or that, that would be a snare to 
my conscience, by and by. At the door of every pulpit I 


CLAYTON. 


27 


must swear always to find truth in a certain formula ; and 
living, prosperity, success, reputation, will all be pledged 
on my finding it there. I tell you I should, if I followed 
my own conscience, preach myself out of pulpits quicker 
than I should plead out at the bar.” 

“ Lord help you, Clayton ! What will you do ? Will 
you settle down on your plantation, and raise cotton and 
sell niggers ? I’m expecting to hear, every minute, that 
you ’ve subscribed for the Liberator, and are going to turn 
Abolitionist.” 

“ I do mean to settle down on my plantation, but not to 
raise cotton or negroes as a chief end of man. I do take 
the Liberator, because I ’m a free man, and have a right to 
take what I have a mind to. I don’t agree with Garrison, 
because I think I know more about the matter, where I 
stand, than he does, or can, where he stands. But it ’s his 
right, as an honest man, to say what he thinks ; and I 
should use it in his place. If I saw things as he does, 1 
should be an Abolitionist. But I don’t.” 

“ That ’s a mercy, at least,” said Russel, “ to a man 
with your taste for martyrdom. But what are you going 
to do ? ” 

“ What any Christian man should do who finds four hun- 
dred odd of his fellow men and women placed in a state of 
absolute dependence on him. I ’m going to educate and fit 
them for freedom. There is n’t a sublimer power on earth 
than God has given to us masters. The law gives us abso- 
lute and unlimited control. A plantation such as a planta- 
tion might be would be * a light to lighten the gentiles.’ 
There is a wonderful and beautiful development locked up 
in this Ethiopian race, and it is worth being a life-object to 
unlock it. The raising of cotton is to be the least of the 
thing. I regard my plantation as a sphere for raising men 
and women, and demonstrating the capabilities of a race.” 

“ Selah ! ” said Russel. 

Clayton looked angry. 

“ I beg your pardon, Clayton. This is all superb, sub- 


CLAYTON. 


*8 

Jime ! Thi re is just one objection to it — it is wholly im- 
possible.” 

“ Every £ood and great thing has been called impossible 
before it is done.” 

“ Well, let me tell you, Clayton, just how it will be. You 
will be a mark for arrows, both sides. You will offend all 
your neighbors by doing better than they do. You will 
bring your negroes up to a point in which they will meet 
the current of the whole community against them, and 
meanwhile you will get no credit with the Abolitionists. 
They will ctd* you a cut-throat, pirate, sheep-stealer, and all 
the rest of their elegant little list of embellishments, all the 
same. You ’ll get a state of things that nobody can man- 
age but yourself, and you by the hardest ; and then you ’ll 
die, and it ’ll all run to the devil faster than you run it up. 
Now, if you would do the thing by halves, it would n’t be 
so bad ; but I know you of old. You won’t be satisfied with 
teaching a catechism and a few hymns, parrot-wise, which I 
think is a respectable religious amusement for our women. 
You ’ll teach ’em all to read, and write, and think, and 
speak. I should n’t wonder to hear of an importation of 
black-boards and spelling-books. You ’ll want a lyceum 
and debating society. Pray, what does sister Anne say to 
all this ? Anne is a sensible girl now, but I ’ll warrant 
you ’ve got tier to go in for it.” 

“ Anne is as much interested as I, but her practical tact 
is greater than mine, and she is of use in detecting difficul- 
ties that I do not see. I have an excellent man, who enters 
fully into my views, who takes charge of the business 
interests of the plantation, instead of one of these scoun- 
drel overseers. There is to be a graduated system of work 
and wages introduced — a system that shall teach the 
nature and rights of property, and train to habits of indus- 
try and frugality, by making every man’s acquirements 
equal to his industry and good conduct.” 

“ And what sort of a support do you expect to make 3ut 


CLAYTON. 


29 


of all this ? Are you going to live for them, or they for 
you ? ” 

“ I shall set them the example of living for them, and 
trust to awaken the good that is in them, in return. The 
strong ought to live for the weak — the cultivated for the 
ignorant.” 

“ Well, Clayton, the Lord help you ! I ’m in earnest now 
— fact ! Though I know you won’t do it, yet I wish you 
could. It ’s a pity, Clayton, you were born in this world. It 
isn’t you, but our planet and planetary ways, that are in 
fault. Your mind is a splendid store-house — gold and gems 
of Ophir — but they are all up in the fifth story, and no 
staircase to get ’em down into common life. Now, I ’ve just 
enough appreciation of the sort of thing that ’s in you, not to 
laugh at you. Nine out of ten would. To tell you the truth, 
if I were already set up in life, and had as definite a position 
as you have, — family, friends, influence, and means, — why, 
perhaps I might afford to cultivate this style of thing. But, 
I tell you what it is, Clayton, such a conscience as yours is 
cursedly expensive to keep. It ’s like a carriage — a fellow 
must n’t set it up unless he can afford it. It ’s one of the 
luxuries.” 

“ It’s a necessary of life, with me,” said Clayton, dryly. 

“ Well, that ’s your nature. I can’t afford it. I ’ve got 
my way to make. I must succeed, and with your ultra 
notions I could n’t succeed. So there it is. After all, I 
can be as religious as dozens of your most respectable 
men, who have taken their seats in the night-train for 
Paradise, and keep the daylight for their own business.” 

“ I dare say you can.” 

“ Yes, and I shall get all I aim at ; and you, Clayton, will 
be always an unhappy, dissatisfied aspirant after something 
too high for mortality. There ’s just the difference between 
us.” 

The conversation was here interrupted by the return of 
the family party. 

3 * 


CHAPTER III. 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY AND SISTER ANNE. 

The family party which was now ushered in, consisted 
of Clayton’s father, mother, and sister. Judge Clayton was 
a tall, dignified, elderly personage, in whom one recognized, 
at a glance, the gentleman of the old school. His hair, 
snowy white, formed a singular contrast with the bright- 
ness of his blue eyes, whose peculiar acuteness of glance 
might remind one of a falcon. There was something stately 
in the position of the head and the carriage of the figure, 
and a punctilious exactness in the whole air and manner, 
that gave one a slight impression of sternness. The clear, 
sharp blue of his eye seemed to be that of a calm and 
decided intellect, of a logical severity of thought ; and con- 
trasted with the silvery hair with that same expression of 
cold beauty that is given by the contrast of snow mountains 
cutting into the keen, metallic blue of an Alpine sky. One 
should apprehend much to fear from such a man’s reason — 
little to hope from any outburst of his emotional nature. 
Yet, as a man, perhaps injustice was done to Judge Clay- 
ton by this first impression ; for there was, deep beneath 
this external coldness, a severely-repressed nature, of the 
most fiery and passionate vehemence. His family affections 
were strong and tender, seldom manifested in words, but 
always by the most exact appreciation and consideration 
for all who came within his sphere. He was strictly and 
impartially just in all the little minutiae of social and domes- 
tic life, never hesitating to speak a truth, or acknowledge 
an error. 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


31 


Mrs. Clayton was a high-bred, elderly lady, whose well- 
preserved delicacy of complexion, brilliant dark eyes, and 
fine .figure, spoke of a youth of beauty. Of a nature im- 
aginative, impulsive, and ardent, inclining constantly to 
generous extremes, she had thrown herself with passionate 
devotion round her clear-judging husband, as the Alpine 
rose girdles with beauty the breast of the bright, pure 
glacier. 

Between Clayton and his father there existed an affection 
deep and entire ; yet, as the son developed to manhood, it 
became increasingly evident that they could never move 
harmoniously in the same practical orbit. The nature of 
the son was so veined and crossed with that of the mother, 
that the father, in attempting the age-long and often-tried 
experiment of making his child an exact copy of himself, 
found himself extremely puzzled and confused in the oper- 
ation. Clayton was ideal to an excess ; ideality colored 
every faculty of his mind, and swayed all his reasonings, as 
an unseen magnet will swerve the needle. Ideality per- 
vaded his conscientiousness, urging him always to rise 
above the commonly-received and so-called practical in 
morals. Hence, while he worshipped the theory of law, the 
practice filled him with disgust ; and his father was obliged 
constantly to point out deficiencies in reasonings, founded 
more on a keen appreciation of what things ought to be, thac 
on a practical regard to what they are. Nevertheless, Clay- 
ton partook enough of his father’s strong and steady nature 
to be his mother’s idol, who, perhaps, loved this second 
rendering of the parental nature with even more doting 
tenderness than the first. 

Anne Clayton was the eldest of three sisters, and the 
special companion and confidant of the brother ; and, as 
she stands there untying her bonnet-strings, we must also 
present her to the reader. She is a little above the medium 
height, with that breadth and full development of chest 
which one admires in English women. She carries her 
well-formed head on her graceful shoulders with a posi- 


32 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


tive, decided air, only a little on this side of haughtiness. 
Her clear brown complexion reddens into a fine glow in 
the cheek, giving one the impression of sound, perfect 
health. The positive outline of the small aquiline nose, 
the large, frank, well-formed mouth, with its clear rows of 
shining teeth, the brown eyes, which have caught some- 
thing of the falcon keenness of the father, are points in the 
picture by no means to be overlooked. Taking her air alto- 
gether, there was an honest frankness about her which 
encouraged conversation, and put one instantly at ease. 
Yet no man in his senses could ever venture to take the 
slightest liberty with Anne Clayton. With all her frank- 
ness, there was ever in her manner a perfectly-defined 
“thus far shalt thou come, and no further.” Beaux, suit- 
ors, lovers in abundance, had stood, knelt, and sighed pro- 
testing, at her shrine. Yet Anne Clayton was twenty-seven, 
and unmarried. Everybody wondered why ; and as to that, 
we can only wonder with the rest. Her own account of . 
the matter was simple and positive. She did not wish to 
marry — was happy enough without. 

The intimacy between the brother and sister had been 
more than usually strong, notwithstanding marked differ- 
ences of character ; for Anne had not a particle of ideality. 
Sense she had, shrewdness, and a pleasant dash of humor, 
withal ; but she was eminently what people call a practical 
girl. She admired highly the contrary of all this in her 
brother ; she delighted in the poetic-heroic element in him, 
for much the same reason that young ladies used to admire 
Thaddeus of Warsaw, and William Wallace — because it 
was something quite out of her line. In the whole woild 
of ideas she had an almost idolatrous veneration for her 
brother ; in the sphere of practical operations she felt free 
to assert, with a certain good-natured positiveness, her own 
superiority. There was no one in the world, perhaps, of 
whose judgment in this respect Clayton stood more in awe. 

At the present juncture of affairs Clayton felt himself 
rather awkwardly embarrassed in commum jating to her an 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


33 


event which she would immediately feel she had a right 
to know before. A sister of Anne Clayton's positive char- 
acter does not usually live twenty-seven years in constant 
intimacy with a brother like Clayton, without such an attach- 
ment as renders the first announcement of a contemplated 
marriage somewhat painful. Why, then, had Clayton, who 
always unreservedly corresponded with his sister, not kept 
her apprised of his gradual attachment to Nina ? The secret 
of the matter was, that he had had an instinctive conscious- 
ness that he could not present Nina to the practical,, clear- 
judging mind of his sister, as she appeared through the mist 
and spray of his imaginative nature. The hard facts of her 
case would be sure to tell against her in any communication 
he might make ; and sensitive people never like the fatigue 
of justifying their instincts. Nothing, in fact, is less capable 
of being justified by technical reasons than those fine in- 
sights into character whereupon affection is built. We have 
all had experience of preferences which would not follow 
the most exactly ascertained catalogue of virtues, and would 
be made captive where there was very little to be said in 
justification of the captivity. 

But, meanwhile, rumor, always busy, had not failed to 
convey to Anne Clayton some suspicions of what was pass- 
ing ; and, though her delicacy and pride forbade any allusion 
to it, she keenly felt the want of confidence, and of course 
was not any more charitably disposed towards the little 
rival for this reason. But now the matter had attained such 
a shape in Clayton's mind that he felt the necessity of ap- 
prising his family and friends. With his -mother the task 
was made easier by the abundant hopefulness of* her nature, 
which enabled her in a moment to throw nerself into the 
sympathies of those she loved. To her had been deputed 
the office of first breaking the tidings to Anne, and she had 
accomplished it during the pleasure-party of the morning. 

The first glance that passed between Clayton and his sis- 
ter, as she entered the room, on her return from the party, 
showed him that she was discomposed and unhappy. She 


34 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


did not remain long in the apartment, or seem disposed to 
join in conversation ; and, after a few abstracted moments, 
she passed through the open door into the garden, and began 
to busy herself apparently among her plants. Clayton fol- 
lowed her. He came and stood silently beside her for some 
time, watching her as she picked the dead leaves off her 
geranium. 

“ Mother has told you,” he said, at length. 

“ Yes,” said Anne. 

There was a long pause, and Anne picked off dry leaves 
and green promiscuously, threatening to demolish the 
bush. 

“ Anne,” said Clayton, “ how I wish you could see her! ” 

“ I Ve heard of her,” replied Anne, dryly, “ through the 
Livingstons.” 

“ And what have yon heard ? ” said Clayton, eagerly. 

“Not such things as I could wish, Edward ; not such as 
I expected to hear of the lady that you would choose.” 

“And, pray, what have you heard? Out with it,” said 
Clayton, — “ let ’s know what the world says of her.” 

“Well, the world says,” said Anne, “that she is a 
coquette, a flirt, a jilt. From all I Ve heard, I should think 
she must be an unprincipled girl.” 

“ That is hard language, Anne.” 

“Truth is generally hard,” replied Anne. 

“ My dear sister,” said Clayton, taking her hand, and 
seating her on the seat in the garden, “ have you lost all 
faith in me ? ” 

“ I think it would be nearer truth,” replied Anne, “ to say 
thaV?/<m litsd Lost all faith in me. Why am I the last one to 
know all this ? vvlij am I to hear it first from reports, and 
every way but from you? Would I have treated you so ? 
Did I ever have anything that I did not tell you ? Down to 
my very soul I Ve always told you everything ! ” 

“ This is true, I own, dear Anne ; but what if you had loved 
some man that you felt sure I should not like ? Now, you 
are a positive person, Anne, and this might happen. Would 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


35 


you want to tell me at once ? Would you not, perhaps, wait, 
and hesitate, and put off, for one reason or another, from 
day to day, and find it grow more and more difficult, the 
longer you waited ? ” 

“ I can’t tell,” said Anne, bitterly. “ I never did love 
any one better than you, — that’s the trouble.” 

“ Neither do I love anybody better than you, Anne. The 
love I have for you is a whole, perfect thing, just as it was. 
See if you do not find me every way as devoted. My 
heart was only opened to take in another love, another 
wholly different; and which, because it is so wholly different, 
never can infringe on the love I bear to you. And, Anne, 
my dear sister, if you could love her as a part of me — ” 

“ I wish I could,” said Anne, somewhat softened ; “ but 
what I ’ve heard has been so unfavorable ! She is not, in 
the least, the person I should have expected you to fancy, 
Edward. Of all things I despise a woman who trifles with 
the affections of gentlemen.” 

“ Well, but, my dear, Nina is n’t a woman ; she is a child 
— a gay, beautiful, unformed child ; and I ’m sure you 
may apply to her what Pope says : 


* If to her share some female errors fall, 

Look in her face, and you forget them all.’ ” 


“Yes, indeed,” said Anne, “I believe all you men are 
alike — a pretty face bewitches any of you. I thought you 
were an exception, Edward ; but there you are.” 

“But, Anne, is this the way to encourage my confi- 
dence ? Suppose I am bewitched and enchanted, you can- 
not disentangle me without indulgence. Say what you will 
about it, the fact is just this — it is my fate to love this child. 
I ’ve tried to love many women before. 1 have seen many 
whom I knew no sort of reason why I should n’t love, — • 
handsomer far, more cultivated, more accomplished, — and yet 
I ’ve seen them without a movement or a flutter of the pulse. 
But this girl has awakened all there is to me. I do not see in 


36 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


her what the world sees. I see the ideal image of what she 
can be, what I ’m sure she will be, when her nature is fully 
awakened and developed.” 

“ Just there, Edward — just that,” said Anne. “You 
never see anything ; that is, you see a glorified image — a 
something that might, could, would, or should be — that is 
your difficulty. You glorify an ordinary boarding-school 
coquette into something symbolic, sublime ; you clothe her 
with all your own ideas, and then fall down to worship 
her.” 

“ Well, my dear Anne, suppose it were so, what then ? 
I am, as you say, ideal, — you, real. Well, be it so ; I must 
act according to what is in me. I have a right to my nature, 
you to yours. But it is not every person whom I can ideal 
ize ; and I suspect this is the great reason why I never 
could love some very fine women, with whom I have asso- 
ciated on intimate terms ; they had no capacity of being 
idealized ; they could receive no color from my fancy ; they 
wanted, in short, just what Nina has. She is just like one 
of those little whisking, chattering cascades in the White 
Mountains,. and the atmosphere round her is favorable to 
rainbows.” 

“ And you always see her through them.” 

“ Even so, sister ; but some people I cannot. Why should 
you find fault with me ? It ’s a pleasant thing to look through 
a rainbow. Why should you seek to disenchant, if I can be 
enchanted ?” 

“Why,” replied Anne, “you remember the man who 
took his pay of the fairies in gold and diamonds, and, after 
he had passed a certain brook, found it all turned to slate- 
stones. Now, marriage is like that brook ; many a poor fel- 
low finds his diamonds turned to slate on the other side ; 
and this is why I put in my plain, hard common sense, 
against your visions. I see the plain facts about this young 
girl ; that she is an acknowledged flirt, a noted coquette and 
jilt ; and a woman who is so is necessarily heartless ; and 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 37 

you are too good, Edward, too noble, I have loved you 
too long, to be willing to give you up to such a woman.” 

“ There, my dear Anne, there are at least a dozen points 
in that sentence to which I don’t agree. In the first place, 
as to coquetry, it is n’t the unpardonable sin in my eyes — 
that is, under some circumstances.” 

“ That is, you mean, when Nina Gordon is the coquette ? ” 

“ No, I don’t mean that. But the fact is, Anne, there is so 
little of true sincerity, so little real benevolence and charity, 
in the common intercourse of young gentlemen and ladies 
in society, and our sex, who ought to set the example, are 
so selfish and unprincipled in their ways of treating women, 
that I do not wonder4hat, now and then, a lively girl, who 
has the power, avenges her sex by playing off our weak 
points. Now, I don’t think Nina capable of trifling with a 
real, deep, unselfish attachment — a love which sought her 
good, and was willing to sacrifice itself for her ; but I don’t 
believe any such has ever been put at her disposal. There ’ft 
a great difference between a man’s wanting a woman to love 
him, and loving her. Wanting to appropriate a woman as 
a wife, does not, of course, imply that a man loves her, or 
that he is capable of loving anything. All these things 
girls feel, because their instincts are quick ; and they are 
often accused of trifling with a man’s heart, when they only 
see through him, and know he has n’t any. Besides, love 
of power has always been considered a respectable sin in us 
men ; and why should we denounce a woman for loving her 
kind of power ? ” 

“ 0, well, Edward, there is n’t anything in the world that 
you cannot theorize into beauty. But I don’t like co- 
quettes, for all that ; and, then, I ’m told Nina, Gordon is 
so very odd, and says and does such very extraordinary 
things, sometimes.” 

“ Well, perhaps that charms me the more In this con- 
ventional world, where women are all rubbed into one uni- 
form surface, like coins in one’s pocket, it ’s a pleasure now 
and then to find one who can’t be made to do and think like 
4 


38 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


all the rest. You have a little dash of this merit, yourself, 
Anne ; but you must consider that you have been brought 
up with mamma, under her influence, trained and guided 
every hour, even more than you knew. Nina has grown up 
an heiress among servants, a boarding-school girl in New 
York ; and, furthermore, you are twenty-seven and she is 
eighteen, and a great deal may be learned between eighteen 
and twenty-seven.” 

“ But, brother, you remember Miss Hannah More says, 
— or some of those good women, I forget who : at any rate 
it ’s a sensible saying, — ‘ that a man who chooses his wife 
as he would a picture in a public exhibition-room, should 
remember that there is this diiference, that the picture can- 
not go back to the exhibition, but the woman may.' You 
have chosen her from seeing her brilliancy in society ; but, 
after all, can you make her happy in the dull routine of a 
commonplace life ? Is she not one of the sort that must 
have a constant round of company and excitement to keep 
her in spirits ? ” 

“I think not,”. said Clayton. “I think she is one of 
those whose vitality is in herself, and one whose freshness 
and originality will keep life anywhere from being common- 
place ; and that, living with us, she will sympathize, natur- 
ally, in all our pursuits.” 

“ Well, now, don’t flatter yourself, brother, that you can 
make this girl over, and bring her to any of your stand- 
ards.” 

“Who — I? Did you think I meditated such an imper- 
tinence ? The last thing I should try, to marry a wife to 
educate her ! It ’s generally one of the most selfish tricks 
of our sex. Besides, I don’t want a wife who will be a 
mere mirror of my opinions and sentiments. I don’t want 
an innocent sheet of blotting-paper, meekly sucking up all 
I say, and giving a little fainter impression of my ideas. 
I want a wife for an alterative ; all the vivacities of life lie 
in differences.” 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


39 


“Why, surely,” said Anne, “one wants one’s friends to 
be congenial, I should think.” 

“So we do ; and there is nothing in the world so con- 
genial as differences. To be sure, the differences must be 
harmonious. In music, now, for instance, one doesn’t want 
a repetition of the same notes, but differing notes that chord. 
Nay, even discords are indispensable to complete harmony. 
Now, Nina has just that difference from me which chords 
with me ; and all our little quarrels — for we have had a good 
many, and I dare say shall have more — are only a sort of 
chromatic passages, — discords of the seventh, leading 
into harmony. My life is inward, theorizing, self-absorbed. 

I am hypochondriao$— often morbid. The vivacity and 
acuteness of her outerlife makes her just what I need. She 
wakens, she rouses, and keeps me in play ; and her quick 
instincts are often more than a match for my reason. I rev- 
erence the child, then, in spite of her faults. She has taught 
me many things.” 

“ Well,” said Anne, laughing, “ I give you up, if it comes 
to that. If you come to talk about reverencing Nina Gor- 
don, I see it ’s all over with you, Edward, and I ’ll be good- 
natured, and make the best of it. I hope it may all be true 
that you think, and a great deal more. At all events, no 
effort of mine shall be wanting to make you as happy in 
your new relation as you ought to be.” 

“ There, now, that ’s Anne Clayton 1 It ’s just like you , 
sister, and I could n’t say anything better than that. You 
have unburdened your conscience, you have done all you 
can for me, and now very properly yield to the inevitation 
Nina, I know, will love you ; and, if you never try to advise • 
her and influence her, you will influence her very much. 
Good people are a long while learning that, Anne. They 
think to do good to others, by interfering and advising. 
They don’t know that all they have to do is to live. When 
I first knew Nina, I was silly enough to try my hand that 
way, myself ; but I ’ve learned better. Now, when Nina,, 
cbmes to us, all that you and namma have got to do is just 

pr 


40 


THE CLAYTON FAMILY. 


'*■ 

to be kind to her, and live as you always have lived ; and 
whatever needs to be altered in her, she will alter herself.” 

u Well,” said Anne, il I wish, as it is so, that I could see 
her.” 

“ Suppose you write a few lines to her in this letter that 
I am going to write ; and then that will lead in due time 
to a visit.” 

“ Anything in the world, Edward, that you say.” 







CHAPTER IV. 

THE GORDON FAMILY. 

A week or two had passed over the head of Nina Gordon 
since she was first introduced to our readers, and during 
this time she had bedfeme familiar with the details of her 
home life. Nominally, she stood «t the head of her planta- 
tion, as mistress and queen in her own right of all, both in 
doors and out ; but, really, she found herself, by her own 
youth and inexperience, her ignorance of practical details, 
very much in the hands of those she professed to govern. 

The duties of a southern housekeeper, ’on a plantation, 
are onerous beyond any amount of northern conception. 
Every article wanted for daily^Yonsumption must be kept 
under lock and key, and doled out as need arises. For the 
most part, the 1 servants are only grown-up children, with- 
out consideration, forethought, or self-control, quarrelling 
with each other, and divided into parties and factions, hope- 
less of any reasonable . control. Every article of wear, for 
some hundreds of people, must be thought of, purchased, 
cut and made, under the direction of the mistress ; and add 
to this the care of young children, whose childish mothers 
are totally unfit to govern or care for them, and we ha^e some 
slight idea of what devolves on southern housekeepers. 

Our reader has seen what Nina Was on her return from 
New York, and can easily imagine that she had no idea of 
embracing, in good earnest, the hard duties of such a life. 

In fact, since the death of Nina's mother, the situation of 
the mistress of the family had been only nominally filled by 
her aunt, Mfs. Nesbit. The real housekeeper, in fact, was 
4* 


42 


THE GORDON FAMILY, 


an old mulatto woman, named Katy, who had been trained 
by Nina’s mother. Notwithstanding the general inefficiency 
and childishness of negro servants, there often are to be 
found among them those of great practical ability. When- 
ever owners, through necessity or from tact, select such 
servants, and subject them to the kind of training and re- 
sponsibility which belongs to a state of freedom, the same 
qualities are developed which exist in free society. Nina’s 
mother, being always in delicate health, had, from necessity, 
been obliged to commit much responsibility to “ Aunt 
Katy,” as she was called ; and she had grown up under the 
discipline into a very efficient housekeeper. With her tall 
red turban, her jingling bunch of keys, and an abundant 
sense of the importance of her office, she was a dignitary 
not lightly to be disregarded. 

It is true that she professed the utmost deference for her 
young mistress, and very generally passed the compliment 
of inquiring what she would have done ; but it was pretty 
generally understood that her assent to Aunt Katy’s propo- 
sitions was considered as much a matter of course as the 
queen’s to a ministerial recommendation. Indeed, had Nina 
chosen to demur, her prime minister had the power, without 
departing in the slightest degree from a respectful bear- 
ing, to involve her in labyrinths of perplexity without end. 
And, as Nina hated trouble, and wanted, above all things, to 
have her time to herself for her own amusement, she wisely 
concluded not to interfere with Aunt Katy’s reign, and to 
get by persuasion and coaxing, what the old body would 
have been far too consequential and opinionated to give to 
authority. 

In like manner, at the head of all out-door affairs was the 
young quadroon, Harry, whom we introduced in the first 
chapter. In order to come fully at the relation in which he 
stood to the estate, we must, after the fashion of historians 
generally, go back a hundred years or so, in order to give 
our readers a fair start. Behold us, therefore, assuming 
historic dignity, as follows. 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


43 


Among the first emigrants to Virginia, in its colonial 
days, was one Thomas Gordon, Knight, a distant offshoot 
of the noble Gordon family, renowned in Scottish history. 
Being a gentleman of some considerable energy, and impa- 
tient of the narrow limits of the Old World, where he found 
little opportunity to obtain that wealth which was necessaiy 
to meet the demands of his family pride, he struck off for 
himself into Virginia. Naturally of an adventurous turn, 
he was one of the first to propose the enterprise which 
afterwards resulted in a settlement on the banks of the 
Chowan River, in North Carolina. Here he took up for 
himself a large tract of the finest alluvial land, and set 
himself to the business of planting, with the energy and 
skill characteristic of his nation ; and, as the soil was new 
and fertile, he soon received a very munificent return for his 
enterprise. Inspired with remembrances of old ancestral 
renown, the Gordon family transmitted in their descent all 
the traditions, feelings, and habits, which were the growth 
of the aristocratic caste from which they sprung. The 
name of Canema, given to the estate, came from an Indian 
guide and interpreter, who accompanied the first Col. Gor- 
don as confidential servant. 

The estate, being entailed, passed down through the colo- 
nial times unbroken in the family, whose wealth, for some 
years, seemed to increase with every generation. 

The family mansion was one of those fond reproductions 
of the architectural style of the landed gentry in England, 
in which, as far as their means could compass it, the planters 
were fond of indulging. 

Carpenters and carvers had been brought over, at great 
expense, from the old country, to give the fruits of their 
skill in its erection ; and it was a fancy of the ancestor who 
built it, to display, in its wood-work, that exuberance of 
new and rare woods with which the American continent was 
supposed to abound. He had made an adventurous voyage 
into South America, and brought from thence specimens of 
those materials more brilliant than rose-wood, and hard as 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


44 

ebony, which grow so profusely on the banks of the Ama- 
zon that the natives use them for timber. The floor of the 
central hall of the house was a curiously-inlaid parquet of 
these brilliant materials, arranged in fine block-work, highly 
polished. 

The outside of the house was built in the old Virginian 
fashion, with two tiers of balconies running completely 
round, as being much better suited to the American climate 
than any of European mode. The inside, however, was 
decorated with sculpture and carvings, copied, many of 
them, from ancestral residences in Scotland, giving to the 
mansion an air of premature antiquity. 

■ Here, for two or three generations, the Gordon family 
had lived in opulence. During the time, however, of Nina’s 
father, and still more after his death, there appeared evi- 
dently on the plftce signs of that gradual decay which has 
conducted many an old Virginian family to poverty and ruin. 
Slave labor, of all others the most worthless and profitless, 
had exhausted the first vigor of the soil, and the proprietors 
gradually degenerated from those habits of energy which 
were called forth by the necessities of the first settlers, and 
everything proceeded with that free-and-easy abandon, in 
which both master and slave appeared to have one common 
object, — that of proving who should waste with most free- 
dom. 

At Colonel Gordon’s death, he had bequeathed, as we 
have already shown, the whole family estate to his daugh- 
ter, under the care of a servant, of whose uncommon intelli- 
gence and thorough devotion of heart he had the most 
ample proof. When it is reflected that the overseers are 
generally taken from a class of whites who are often lower 
in ignorance and barbarism than even the slaves, and that 
their wastefulness and rapacity are a by-word among the 
planters, it is no wonder that Colonel Gordon thought that, 
in leaving his plantation under the care of one so energetic, 
competent, and faithful, as Harry, he had made the best 
possible provision for his daughter. 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


45 


Harry was the son of his master, and inherited much of 
the temper and constitution of his father, tempered by the 
soft and genial temperament of the beautiful Eboe mulat- 
tress who was his mother. From this circumstance Harry 
had received advantages of education very superior to what 
commonly fell to the lot of his class. He had also ac- 
cojnpanied his master as valet during the tour of Europe, 
and thus his opportunities of general observation had been 
still further enlarged, and that tact by which those of the 
mixed blood seem so peculiarly fitted to appreciate all the 
finer aspects of conventional life, had been called out and 
exercised ; so that it would be difficult in any circle to meet 
with a more agreeable and gentlemanly person. In leaving 
a man of this character, and his own son, still in the bonds 
of slavery, Colonel Gordon was influenced by that passion- 
ate devotion to his daughter which with him overpowered 
every consideration. A man so cultivated, he argued to 
himself, might find many avenues opened to him in free- 
dom ; might be tempted to leave the estate to other hands, 
and seek his own fortune. He therefore resolved to leave 
him bound by an indissoluble tie for a term of years, 
trusting to his attachment to Nina to make this service 
tolerable. 

Possessed of very uncommon judgment, firmness, and 
knowledge of human nature, Harry had found means to ac- 
quire great ascendency over the hands of the plantation ; 
and, either through fear or through friendship, there was 
a universal subordination to him. The executors of the 
estate scarcely made even a feint of overseeing him ; and he 
proceeded, to all intents and purposes, with the perfect ease 
of a free man. Everybody, for miles around, knew and re- 
spected him ; and, had he not been possessed of a good 
share of the thoughtful, forecasting temperament derived 
from his Scottish parentage, he might have been completely 
happy, and forgotten even the existence of the chains 
whose weight he never felt. 

It was only in the presence of Tom Gordon — Colonel 


46 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


Gordon's lawful son — that he ever realized that he was a 
slave. From childhood, there had been a rooted enmity 
between the brothers, which deepened as years passed on ; 
and, as he found himself, on every return of the young man 
to the place, subjected to taunts and ill-usage, to which 
his defenceless position left him no power to reply, he had 
resolved never to marry, and lay the foundation for a family, 
until such time as he should be able to have the command 
of his own destiny, and that of his household. But the 
charms of a pretty French quadroon overcame the dictates 
of prudence. 

The history of Tom Gordon is the history of many a 
young man grown up under the institutions and in the state 
of society which formed him. Nature had endowed him 
with no mean share of talent, and with that perilous quick- 
ness of nervous organization, which, like fire, is a good 
servant, but a bad master. Out of those elements, with 
due training, might have been formed an efficient and elo- 
quent public man ; but, brought up from childhood among 
servants to whom his infant will was law, indulged during 
the period of infantile beauty and grace in the full expres- 
sion of every whim, growing into boyhood among slaves 
with but the average amount of plantation morality, his 
passions developed at a fearfully early time of life ; and, 
before his father thought of seizing the reins of authority, 
they had gone out of his hands forever. Tutor after tutor 
was employed on the plantation to instruct him, and left, 
terrified by his temper. The secluded nature of the planta- 
tion left him without that healthful stimulus of society 
which is often a help in enabling a boy to come to the 
knowledge and control of himself. His associates were 
either the slaves, or the overseers, who are generally un- 
principled and artful, or the surrounding whites, who lay 
in a yet lower deep of degradation. For one reason or 
another, it was for the interest of all these to flatter his 
vices, and covertly to assist him in opposing and deceiv- 
ing his parents. Thus an early age saw him an adept in 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


47 


every low form of vice. In despair, he was at length sent 
to an academy at the North, where he commenced his 
career on the first day by striking the teacher in the 
face, and was consequently expelled. Thence he went to 
another, where, learning caution from experience, he was 
enabled to maintain his foot-hold. There he was a success- 
ful colporteur and missionary in the way of introducing a 
knowledge of bowie-knives, revolvers, and vicious litera- 
ture. Artful, bold, and daring, his residence for a year at a 
school was sufficient to initiate in the way of ruin perhaps 
one fourth of the boys. He was handsome, and, when not 
provoked, good-natured, and had that off-hand way of spend- 
ing money which passes among boys for generosity. The 
simple sons of hard-working farmers, bred in habits of in- 
dustry and frugality, were dazzled and astonished by the 
freedom with which he talked, and drank, and spit, and 
swore. He was a hero in their eye, and they began to 
wonder at the number of things, to them unknown before, 
which went to make up the necessaries of life. From school 
he was transferred to college, and there placed under the 
care of a professor, who was paid an exorbitant sum for 
overlooking his affairs. The consequence was, that while 
many a northern boy, whose father could not afford to pay 
for similar patronage, was disciplined, rusticated, or ex- 
pelled, as the case might be, Tom Gordon exploited glo- 
riously through college, getting drunk every week or 
two, breaking windows, smoking freshmen, heading various 
sprees in different parts of the country, and at last gradu- 
ating nobody knew how, except the patron professor, who 
received an extra sum for the extra difficulties of the case. 
Returned home, he went into a lawyer’s office in Raleigh, 
where, by a pleasant fiction, he was said to be reading law, 
because he was occasionally seen at the office during the 
intervals of his more serious avocations of gambling, and 
horse-racing, and drinking. His father, an affectionate but 
passionate man, was wholly unable to control him, and the 
conflicts between them often shook the whole domestic 


48 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


fabric. Nevertheless, to the last Colonel Gordon indulged 
the old hope for such cases made and provided, that Tom 
would get through sowing his wild oats, some time, and set- 
tle down and be a respectable man ; in which hope he left 
him the half of his property. Since that time, Tom seemed 
to have studied on no subject except how to accelerate the 
growth of those wings which riches are said to be inclined 
to take, under the most favorable circumstances. 

As often happens in such cases of utter ruin, Tom Gor- 
don was a much worse character for all the elements of 
good which he possessed. He had sufficient perception of 
right, and sufficient conscience remaining, to make him bit- 
ter and uncomfortable. In proportion as he knew himself 
unworthy of his father’s affection and trust, he became jeal- 
c.us and angry at any indications of the want of it. He had 
contracted a settled ill-will to his sister, for no other appa- 
rent reason except that the father took a comfort in her 
which he did not in him. From childhood, it was his habit 
to vex and annoy her in every possible way ; and it was for 
this reason, among many others, that Harry had persuaded 
Mr. John Gordon, Nina’s uncle and guardian, to place her 
at the New York boarding-school, where she acquired what 
is termed an education. After finishing her school career, 
she had been spending a few months in a family of a cousin 
of her mother’s, and running with loose rein the career of 
fashionable gayety. 

Luckily, she brought home with her unspoiled a genuine 
love of nature, which made the rural habits of plantation 
life agreeable to her. Neighbors there were few. Her uncle’s 
plantation, five miles distant, was the nearest. Other fami- 
lies with whom the Gordons were in the habit of exchang- 
ing occasional visits were some ten or fifteen miles distant. 
It was Nina’s delight, however, in her muslin wrapper, and 
straw hat, to patter about over the plantation, to chat with 
the negroes among their cabins, amusing herself with the 
various drolleries and peculiarities to which long absence 
had given the zest of novelty. Then she would call for her 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


49 


pony, and, attended by Harry, or some of her servants, 
would career through the woods, gathering the wild-flowers 
with which they abound ; perhaps stop for a day at her 
uncle’s, have a chat and a romp with him, and return the 
next morning. 

In the comparative solitude of her present life her mind 
began to clear itself of some former follies, as water when 
at rest deposits the sediment which clouded it. Apart from 
the crowd, and the world of gayeties which had dizzied her, 
she could not help admitting to herself the folly of much 
she had been doing. Something, doubtless, was added to 
this by the letters of Clayton. The tone of them, so manly 
and sincere, so respectful and kind, so removed either from 
adulation or sentimentalism, had an effect upon her greater 
than she was herself aware of. So Nina, in her positive 
and off-hand way, sat down, one day, and wrote farewell let- 
ters to both her other lovers, and felt herself quite relieved 
by the process. 

A young person could scarce stand more entirely alone, 
as to sympathetic intercourse with relations, than Nina. It 
is true that the presence of her mother’s sister in the 
family caused it to be said that she was residing under the 
care of an aunt. 

Mrs. Nesbit, however, was simply one of those well-bred, 
well-dressed lay-figures, whose only office in life seems to be 
to occupy a certain room in a house, to sit in certain chairs 
at proper hours, to make certain remarks at suitable inter- 
vals of conversation. In her youth this lady had run quite 
a career as a belle and beauty. Nature had endowed her 
with a handsome face and figure, and youth and the pleas- 
ure of admiration for some years supplied a sufficient flow 
of animal spirits to make the beauty effective. Early mar- 
ried, she became the mother of several children, who were 
one by one swept into the grave. The death of her hus- 
band, last of all, left her with a very small fortune alone in 
the world ; and, like many in similar circumstances, she was 
content to sink into an appendage to another’s family. 

5 


50 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


Mrs. Nesbit considered herself very religious ; and, as 
there is a great deal that passes for religion, ordinarily, of 
which she mayjbe fairly considered a representative, we will 
present our readers with a philosophical analysis of the 
article. When young, she had thought only of self in the 
form of admiration, and the indulgence of her animal spirits. 
When married, she had thought of self only in her husband 
and children, whom she loved because they were hers , and 
for no other reason. 

When death swept away her domestic circle, and time 
stole the beauty and freshness of animal spirits, her self- 
love took another form ; and, perceiving that this world was 
becoming to her somewhat pass4, she determined to make 
the best of her chance for another. 

Religion she looked upon in the light of a ticket, which, 
being once purchased, and snugly laid away in a pocket- 
book, is to be produced at the celestial gate, and thus 
secure admission to heaven. 

At a certain period of her life, while she deemed this 
ticket unpurchased, she was extremely low-spirited and 
gloomy, and went through a quantity of theological read- 
ing enough to have astonished herself, had she foreseen it 
in the days of her belle-ship. As the result of all, she at 
last presented herself as a candidate for admission to a 
Presbyterian church in the vicinity, there professing her 
determination to run the Christian race. By the Christian 
race, she understood going at certain stated times to reli- 
gious meetings, reading the Bible and hymn-book at certain 
hours in the day, giving at regular intervals stipulated 
sums to religious charities, and preserving a general state 
of leaden indifference to everybody and everything in the 
world. 

She thus fondly imagined that she had renounced the 
world, because she looked back with disgust on gayeties 
for which she had no longer strength or spirits. Nor did 
she dream that the intensity with which her mind travelled 
the narrow world of self, dwelling on the plaits of her caps, 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


51 


the cut of her stone-colored satin gowns, the making of her 
tea and her bed, and the saving of her narrow income, was 
exactly the same in kind, though far less agreeable in de- 
velopment, as that which once expended itself in dressing 
and dancing. Like many other apparently negative char- 
acters, she had a pertinacious intensity of an extremely 
narrow and aimless self-will. Her plans of life, small as 
they were, had a thousand crimps and plaits, to every one 
of which she adhered with invincible pertinacity. The poor 
lady little imagined, when she sat, with such punctilious 
satisfaction, while the Rev. Mr. Orthodoxy demonstrated 
that selfishness is the essence of all moral evil, that the 
sentiment had the slightest application to her ; nor dreamed 
that the little, quiet, muddy current of self-will, which ran 
without noise or indecorum under the whole structure of 
her being, might be found, in a future day, to have under- 
mined all her hopes of heaven. Of course, Mrs. Nesbit re- 
garded Nina, and all other lively young people, with a kind 
of melancholy endurance — as shocking spectacles of world- 
liness. There was but little sympathy, to be sure, between 
the dashing, and out-spoken, and almost defiant little Nina, 
and the sombre silver-gray apparition which glided quietly 
about the wide halls of her paternal mansion. In fact, it 
seemed to afford the latter a mischievous pleasure to shock 
her respectable relative on all convenient occasions. Mrs. 
Nesbit felt it occasionally her duty, as she remarked, to call 
her lively niece into her apartment, and endeavor to persuade 
her to read some such volume as Law’s Serious Call, or 
Owen on the One Hundred and Nineteenth Psalm ; and to 
give her a general and solemn warning against all the van- 
ities of the world, in which were generally included dressing 
in any color but black and drab, dancing, flirting, writing 
love-letters, and all other enormities, down to the eating of 
pea-nut candy. One of these scenes is just now enacting in 
this good lady’s apartment, upon which we will raise the 
curtain. 

Mrs. Nesbit, a diminutive, blue-eyed, fair-complexioned 


52 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


little woman, of some five feet high, sat gently swaying in 
that respectable asylum for American old age, commonly 
called a rocking-chair. Every rustle of her silvery silk 
gown, every fold of the snowy kerchief on her neck, every 
plait of her immaculate cap, spoke a soul long retired from 
this world and its cares The bed, arranged with extremest 
precision, however, was covered with a melange of French 
finery, flounces, laces, among which Nina kept up a con- 
tinual agitation like that produced by a breeze in a flower- 
bed, as she unfolded, turned, and fluttered them, before the 
eyes of her relative. 

“ 1 have been through all this, Nina,” said the latter, with 
a melancholy shake of her head, “ and I know the vanity of 
it.” 

“ Well, aunty, I haven’t been through it, so I don’t 
know.” 

“ Yes, my dear, when I was of your age, I used to go to 
balls and parties, and could think of nothing but of dress 
and admiration. I have been through it all, and seen the 
vanity of it.” 

“ Well, aunt, I want to go through it, and see the vanity 
of it, too. That ’s just what I ’m after. I ’m on the way to 
be as sombre and solemn as you are, but I ’m bound to 
have a good time first. Now, look at this pink brocade ! ” 

Had the brocade been a pall, it could scarcely have been 
regarded with a more lugubrious aspect. 

“ Ah, child ! such a dying world as this ! To spend so 
much time and thought on dress ! ” 

“ Why, Aunt Nesbit, yesterday you spent just two whole 
hours in thinking whether you should turn the breadths of 
your black silk dress upside down, or down side up ; and 
this was a dying world all the time. Now, I don’t see that 
it is any better to think of black silk than it is of pink.” 

This was a view of the subject which seemed never to 
have occurred to the good lady. 

“ But, now, aunt, do cheer up, and look at this box of 
artificial flowers. You know I thought I ’d bring a stock 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


53 


on from New York. Now, are n’t these perfectly lovely ? I. 
like flowers that mean something. Now, these are all imi- 
tations of natural flowers, so perfect that you ’d scarcely 
know them from the real. See — there, that ’s a moss-rose ; 
and now look at these sweet peas, you ’d think they had 
just been picked ; and, there — that heliotrope, and these 
jessamines, and those orange-blossoms, and that wax 
camelia — ” 

“ Turn off my eyes from beholding vanity ! ” said Mrs. 
Nesbit, shutting her eyes, and shaking her head : 


“ ‘ What if we wear the richest vest, — 

Peacocks and flies are better drest ; 

This flesh, with all its glorious forms, 

Must drop to earth, and feed the worms.’ ” 

“ Aunt, I do think you have the most horrid, disgusting 
set of hymns, all about worms, and dust, and such things ! ” 

“ It ’s my duty, child, when I see you so much taken up 
with such sinful finery.” 

“ Why, aunt, do you think artificial flowers are sinful ? ” 

“Yes, dear ; they are a sinful waste of time and money, * 
and take off our mind from more important things.” 

“ Well, aunt, then what did the Lord make sweet peas, 
and roses, and orange-blossoms for ? I’m sure it ’s only 
doing as he does, to make flowers. He don’t make every- 
thing gray, or stone-color. Now, if you only would come 
out in the garden, this morning, and see the oleanders, and 
the crape myrtle, and the pinks, the roses, and the tulips, 
and the hyacinths, I ’m sure it would do you good.” 

“ 0, I should certainly catch cold, child, if I went out 
doors. Milly left a crack opened in the window, last night, 
and I ’ve sneezed three or four times since. It will never 
do for me to go out in the garden ; the feeling of the ground 
striking up through my shoes is very unhealthy.” 

“ Well, at any rate, aunt, I should think, if the Lord 
did n’t wish us to wear roses and jessamines, he would not 
5 * 


u 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


have made them. And it is the most natural thing in the 
world to want to wear flowers. ” 

11 It only feeds vanity and a love of display, my dear.” 

“ I don’t think it ’s vanity, or a love of display. I should 
want to dress prettily, if I were the only person in the world. 
I love pretty things because they are pretty. I like to wear 
them because they make me look pretty.” 

“ There it is, child ; you want to dress up your poor per- 
ishing body to look pretty — that ’s the thing ! ” 

“To be sure I do. Why should n’t I ? I mean to look as 
pretty as I can, as long as I live.” 

“ You seem to have quite a conceit of your beauty ! ” said 
Aunt Nesbit. 

“ Well, I know I am pretty. I ’m not going to pretend I 
don’t. I like my own looks, now, that ’s a fact. 1 ’m not 
like one of your Greek statues, I know. I ’m not wonder- 
fully handsome, nor likely to set the world on fire with my 
beauty. I ’m just a pretty little thing ; and I like flowers 
and laces, and all of those things ; and I mean to like them, 
and I don’t think there ’ll be a bit of religion in my not lik- 
ing them ; and as for all that disagreeable stuff about the 
worms, that you are always telling me, I don’t think it does 
me a particle of good. And, if religion is going to make 
me so poky, I shall put it off as long as I can.” 

“ I used to feel just as you do, dear, but I ’ve seen the 
folly of it ! ” 

“ If I ’ve got to lose my love for everything that is bright, 
everything that is lively, and everything that is pretty, and 
like to read such horrid stupid books, why, I ’d rather be 
buried, and done with it!” 

“ That ’s the opposition of the' natural heart, my dear.” 

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of 
a bright, curly-headed mulatto boy, bearing Mrs. Nesbit’s 
daily luncheon. 

“ 0, here comes Tomtit,” said Nina ; “ now for a scene ! 
Let ’s see what he has forgotten, now.” 

Tomtit was, in his way, a great character in the mansion. 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


55 


He and his grandmother were the property of Mrs. Nesbit 
His true name was no less respectable and methodical than 
that of Thomas ; but, as he was one of those restless and 
effervescent sprites, who seem to be born for the confusion 
of quiet people, Nina had rechristened him Tomtit, which 
sobriquet was immediately recognized by the whole house- 
hold as being eminently descriptive and appropriate. A 
constant ripple and eddy of drollery seemed to pervade his 
whole being; his large, saucy black eyes had always a 
laughing fire in them, that it was impossible to meet with- 
out a smile in return. Slave and property though he was, 
yet the first sentiment of reverence for any created thing 
seemed yet wholly unawakened in his curly pate. Breezy, 
idle, careless, flighty, as his woodland namesake, life to 
him seemed only a repressed and pent-up ebullition of animal 
enjoyment ; and almost the only excitement of Mrs. Nesbit ’s 
quiet life was her chronic controversy with Tomtit. Forty 
or fifty times a day did the old body assure him "that she 
was astonished at his conduct ; ” and as many times would 
he reply by showing the whole set of his handsome teeth, 
on the broad grin, wholly inconsiderate of the state of des- 
pair into which he thus reduced her. 

On the present occasion, as he entered the room, his eye 
was caught by the great display of finery on the bed ; and, 
hastily dumping the waiter on the first chair that occurred, 
with a flirt and a spring as lithe as that of a squirrel, he 
was seated in a moment astride the foot-board, indulging in 
a burst of merriment. 

" Good law, Miss Nina, whar on earth dese yer come 
from ? Good law, some on ’em for me, is n’t ’er ? ” 

"You see that child!” now said Mrs. Nesbit, rocking 
back in her chair with the air of a martyr. " After all my 
talkings to him ! Nina, you ought not to allow that ; it just 
encourages him ! ” 

" Tom, get down, you naughty creature you, and get the 
stand and put the waiter on it. Mind yourself, now ! ” said 
Nina, laughing. 


56 


TEE GORDON FAMILY. 


Tomtit cut a somerset from the foot-board to the floor 
and, striking up, on a very high key, “ I ’ll bet my money 
on a bob-tail nag,” he danced out a small table, as if it 
had been a partner, and deposited it, with a jerk, at the side 
of Mrs. Nesbit, who aimed a cuff* at his ears ; but, as he 
adroitly ducked his head, the intended blow came down 
upon the table with more force than was comfortable to the 
inflictor. 

“I believe that child is made of air! — I never can hit 
him ! ” said the good lady, waxing red in the face. “ He is 
enough to provoke a saint ! ” 

“So he is, aunt ; enough to provoke two saints like you 
and me. Tomtit, you rogue,” said she, giving a gentle pull 
to a handful of his curly hair, “ be good, now, and I ’ll show 
you the pretty things, by and by. Come, put the waiter on 
the table, now ; see if you can’t walk, for once ! ” 

Casting down his eyes with an irresistible look of mock 
solemnity, Tomtit marched with the waiter, and placed it 
by his mistress. 

The good lady, after drawing off her gloves and making 
sundry little decorous preparations, said a short grace over 
her meal, during which time Tomtit seemed to be holding 
his sides with repressed merriment ; then, gravely laying hold 
of the handle of the teapot she stopped short, gave an 
exclamation, and flirted her fingers, as she felt it almost 
scalding hot. 

“ Tomtit, I do believe you intend to burn me to death, 
some day ! ” 

“ Laws, missus, dat are hot ? 0, sure I was tickler to set 

the nose round to the fire.” 

“No, you didn’t! you stuck the handle right into the 
fire, as you ’re always doing ! ” 

“ Laws, now, wonder if I did,” said Tomtit, assuming an 
abstracted appearance. “ ’Pears as if never can ’member 
which dem dare is nose, and which handle. Now, I’sa 
studdin on dat dare most all de morning — was so,” said 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


57 


he, gathering confidence, as he saw, by Nina’s dancing 
eyes, how greatly she was amused. 

“You need a sound whipping, sir — that’s what you 
need ! ” said Mrs. Nesbit, kindling up in sudden wrath. 

“ 0, I knows it,” said Tomtit. “ We ’s unprofitable ser- 
vants, all on us. Lord’s marcy that wc an’t ’sumed, all on 
us ! ” 

Nina was so completely overcome by this novel applica- 
tion of the text which she had heard her aunt laboriously 
drumming into Tomtit, the Sabbath before, that she laughed 
aloud, with rather uproarious merriment. 

“ 0, aunt, there ’s no use ! He don’t know anything ! 
He ’s nothing but an incarnate joke, a walking hoax ! ” 

“ No, I does n’t know nothing, Miss Nina,” said Tomtit, 
at the same time looking out from under his long eyelashes. 
“ Don’t know nothing at all — never can.” 

“ Well, now. Tomtit,” said Mrs. Nesbit, drawing out a 
little blue cowhide from under her chair, and looking at 
him resolutely, “ you see, if this teapot handle is hot again, 
I ’ll give it to you ! Do you hear ? ” 

“ Yes, missis,” said Tomtit, with that indescribable sing- 
song of indifference, which is so common and so provoking 
in his class. 

“ And, now, Tomtit, you go down stairs and clean the 
knives for dinner.” 

“ Yes, missis,” said he, pirouetting towards the door. 
And once in the passage, he struck up a vigorous “0, I’m 
going to glory, won’t you go along with me;” accompany- 
ing himself, by slapping his own sides, as he went down two 
stairs at a time. 

" Going to glory ! ” said Mrs. Nesbit, rather shortly ; “ he 
looks like it, I think ! It ’s the third or fourth time that that 
child has blistered my fingers with this teapot, and I know 
he does it on purpose ! So ungrateful, when I spend my 
time, teaching him, hour after hour, laboring with him so ! 
I declare, I don’t believe these children have got any 
souls ! ” 


58 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


“ Well, aunt, I declare, I should think you ’d get out of 
all patience with him ; yet he ’s so funny, I cannot, for the 
life of me, help laughing.” 

Here a distant whoop on the staircase, and a tempestuous 
chorus to a methodist hymn, with the words, “ 0 come, my 
loving brethren,” announced that Tomtit was on the return ; 
and very soon, throwing open the door, he marched in, with 
an air of the greatest importance. 

“ Tomtit, did n’t I tell you to go and clean the knives ? ” 

“ Law, missis, come up here to bring Miss Nina’s love- 
letters,” said he, producing two or three letters. “ Good 
law, though,” said he, checking himself, “ forgot to put 
them on a waity ! ” and, before a word could be said, he 
was out of the room and down stairs, and at the height of 
furious contest with the girl who was cleaning the silver, 
for a waiter to put Miss Nina’s letters on. 

“ Dar, Miss Nina,” appealing to her when she appeared, 
“ Rosa won’t let me have no waity ! ” 

“ I could pull your hair for you, you little image ! ” said 
Nina, seizing the letters from his hands, and laughing while 
she cuffed his ears. 

“ Well,” said Tomtit, looking after her with great solem- 
nity, “ missis in de right on ’t. An’t no kind of order 
in this here house, ’pite of all I can do. One says put let- 
ters on waity. Another one won’t let you have waity to 
put letters on. And, finally, Miss Nina, she pull them all 
away. Just the way things going on in dis yer house, all 
the time ! I can’t help it ; done all I can. Just the way 
missus says 1 ” 

There was one member of Nina’s establishment of a 
character so marked that we cannot refrain from giving her 
a separate place in our picture of her surroundings, — and 
this was Milly, the waiting-woman of Aunt Nesbit. 

Aunt Milly, as she was commonly called, was a tall, broad- 
shouldered, deep-chested African woman, with a fulness 
of figure approaching to corpulence. Her habit of standing 
and of motion was peculiar and majestic, reminding one of 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


59 


the Scripture expression “ upright as the palm-tree.” Her 
skin was of a peculiar blackness and softness, not unlike 
black velvet. Her eyes were large, full, and dark, and had 
about them that expression of wishfulness and longing 
which one may sometimes have remarked in dark eyes. 
Her mouth was large, and the lips, though partaking of the 
African fulness, had, nevertheless, something decided and 
energetic in their outline, which was still further seconded 
by the heavy moulding of the chin. A frank smile, which 
was common with her, disclosed a row of most splendid 
and perfect teeth. Her hair, without approaching to the 
character of the Anglo-Saxon, was still different from the 
ordinary woolly coat of the negro, and seemed more like 
an infinite number of close-knotted curls, of brilliant, 
glossy blackness. 

The parents of Milly were prisoners taken in African 
wars ; and she was a fine specimen of one of those warlike 
and splendid races, of whom, as they have seldom been re- 
duced to slavery, there are but few and rare specimens 
among the slaves of the south. 

Her usual head-dress was a high turban, of those brilliant 
colored Madras handkerchiefs in which the instinctive taste 
of the dark races leads them to delight. Milly’s was 
always put on and worn with a regal air, as if it were the 
coronet of the queen. For the rest, her dress consisted of 
a well-fitted gown of dark stuff, of a quality somewhat finer 
than the usual household apparel. A neatly-starched white 
muslin handkerchief folded across her bosom, and a clean 
white apron, completed her usual costume. 

No one. could regard her, as a whole, and not feel their 
prejudice in favor of the exclusive comeliness of white races 
somewhat shaken. Placed among the gorgeous surround- 
ings of African landscape and scenery , it might be doubted 
whether any one’s taste could have desired, as a completion 
to her appearance, to have blanched the glossy skin whose 
depth of coloring harmonizes so well with the intense and 
fiery glories of a tropical landscape. 


60 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


In character, Milly was worthy of her remarkable exter- 
nal appearance. Heaven had endowed her with a soul as 
broad and generous as her ample frame. Her passions 
rolled and burned in her bosom with a tropical fervor ; a 
shrewd and abundant mother wit, united with a vein of 
occasional drollery, gave to her habits of speech a quaint 
vivacity. 

A native adroitness gave an unwonted command over 
all the functions of her fine body ; so that she was endowed 
with that much-coveted property which the New Englander 
denominates “ faculty,” which means the intuitive ability 
to seize at once on the right and best way of doing every- 
thing which is to be done. At the same time, she was pos- 
sessed of that high degree of self-respect which led her to 
be incorruptibly faithful and thorough in all she undertook ; 
less, as it often seemed, from any fealty or deference to 
those whom she served, than from a kind of native pride in 
well-doing, which led her to deem it beneath herself to 
slight or pass over the least thing which she had undertaken. 
Her promises were inviolable. Her owners always knew 
that what she once said would be done, if it were within 
the bounds of possibility. 

The value of an individual thus endowed in person and 
character may be easily conceived by those who understand 
how rare, either among slaves or freemen, is such a combi- 
nation. Milly was, therefore, always considered in the 
family as a most valuable piece of property, and treated 
with more than common consideration. 

As a mind, even when uncultivated, will ever find its level, 
it often happened that Milly’s amount of being and force 
of character gave her ascendency even over those who were 
nominally her superiors. As her ways were commonly 
found to be the best ways, she was left, in most cases, to 
pursue them without opposition or control. But, favorite 
as she was, her life had been one of deep sorrows. She 
had been suffered, it is true, to contract a marriage with a 
very finely-endowed mulatto man, on a plantation adjoining 


THE GORDON FAMILY. 


61 


her owner’s, by whom she had a numerous family of chil- 
dren, who inherited all her fine physical and mental endow- 
ments. With more than usual sensibility and power of 
reflection, the idea that the children so dear to her were 
from their birth not her own, — that they were, from the first 
hour of their existence, merchantable articles, having a fixed 
market value in proportion to every excellence, and liable 
to all the reverses of merchantable goods, — sank with deep 
weight into her mind. Unfortunately, the family to which 
she belonged being reduced to poverty, there remained, 
often, no other means of making up the deficiency of in- 
come than the annual sale of one or two negroes. Milly’s 
children, from their fine developments, were much-coveted 
articles. Their owner was often tempted by extravagant 
offers for them ; and therefore, to meet one crisis or another 
of family difficulties, they had been successively sold from 
her. At first, she had met this doom with almost the 
ferocity of a lioness ; but the blow, oftentimes repeated, 
had brought with it a dull endurance, and Christianity had 
entered, as it often does with the slave, through the rents 
and fissures of a broken heart. Those instances of piety 
which are sometimes, though rarely, found among slaves, 
and which transcend the ordinary development of the best- 
instructed, are generally the results of calamities and afflic- 
tions so utterly desolating as to force the soul to depend on 
God alone. But, where one soul is thus raised to higher 
piety, thousands are crushed in hopeless imbecility. 

6 


CHAPTER V. 


* i \UY AND HIS WIFE. 

Several miltJ qi the Gordon estate, on an old and 
somewhat decayed plantation, stood a neat log cabin, whose 
external aspect showed both taste and care. It was almost 
enveloped in luxuriant wreaths of yellow jessamine, and 
garlanded with a magnificent lamarque rose, whose cream- 
colored buds and flowers contrasted beautifully with the 
dark, polished green of the finely-cut leaves. 

The house stood in an enclosure formed by a high hedge 
Df the American holly, whose evergreen foliage and scarlet 
berries made it, at all times of the year, a beautiful object. 
Within the enclosure was a garden, carefully tended, and 
devoted to the finest fruits and flowers. 

This little dwelling, so different in its air of fanciful neat- 
ness from ordinary southern cabins, was the abode of 
Harry’s little wife. I/isette, which was her name, was the 
slave of a French creole woman, to whom a plantation had 
recently fallen by inheritance. 

She was a delicate, airy little creature, formed by a mix- 
ture of the African and French blood, producing one of 
those fanciful, exotic combinations, that give one the same 
impression of brilliancy and richness that one receives from 
tropical insects and flowers. From both parent races she 
was endowed with a sensuous being exquisitely quick and 
fine, — a nature of everlasting childhood, with all its fresh- 
ness of present life, all its thoughtless, unreasoning fear- 
lessness of the future. 

She stands there at her ironing-table, just outside her cot- 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


G3 


tage door, singing gayly at her work. Her round, plump, 
childish form is shown to advantage by the trim blue 
basque, laced in front, over a chemisette of white linen. 
Her head is wreathed with a gay turban, from which escapes, 
now and then, a wandering curl of her silky black hair. 
Her eyes, as she raises them, have the hazy, dreamy lan- 
guor, which is so characteristic of the mixed races. Her 
little, childish hands are busy, with nimble fingers adroitly 
plaiting and arranging various articles of feminine toilet, 
too delicate and expensive to have belonged to those in 
humble circumstances. She ironed, plaited, and sung, with 
busy care. Occasionally, however, she would suspend hei 
work, and, running between the flower-borders to the hedge, 
look wistfully along the road, shading her eyes with* hei 
hand. At last, as she saw a man on horseback approach- 
ing, she flew lightly out, and ran to meet him. 

“ Harry, Harry 1 You ’ve come, at last. I ’m so glad ; 
And what have you got in that paper ? Is it anything for 
me ? ” 

He held it up, and shook it at her, while she leaped after it. 

“No, no, little curiosity ! ” he said, gayly. 

“ I know it ’s something for me,” said she, with a pretty, 
half-pouting air. 

“ And why do you know it ’ s for you ? Is everything to 
be for you in the world, you little good-for-nothing ? ” 

“ Good-for-nothing I ” with a toss of the gayly-turbaned 
little head. “You may well say that, sir 1 Just look at 
the two dozen shirts I ’ve ironed, since morning ! Come, 
now, take me up ; I want to ride.” 

Harry put out the toe of his boot and his hand, and, with 
an adroit spring, she was in a moment before him, on his 
horse’s neck, and, with a quick turn, snatched the paper 
parcel from his hand. 

“ Woman’s curiosity I ” said he. 

“ Well, I want to see what it is. ' Dear me, what a tight 
string ! 0, I can’t break it I Well, here it goes ; I ’ll tear 


64 


HARRY AND HIS WIPE. 


a hole in it, anyhow. 0, silk, as I live ! Aha ! tell me 
now this is n’t for me, you bad thing, you ! *’ 

“ Why, how do you know it is n’t to make me a summer 
coat ? ” 

“ Summer coat ! — likely story ! Aha ! I ’ve found you 
out, mister ! But, come, do make the horse canter ! I want 
to go fast. Make him canter, do ! ” 

Harry gave a sudden jerk to the reins, and in a minute 
the two were flying off as if on the wings of the wind. 
On and on they went, through a small coppice of pines, 
while the light-hearted laugh rang on the breeze behind 
them. Now they are lost to view. In a few minutes, 
emerging from the pine woods in another direction, they 
come sweeping, gay and laughing, up to the gate. To 
fasten the horse, to snatch the little wife on his shoulder, 
and run into the cottage with her, seemed the work only of 
a moment ; and, as he set her down, still laughing, he ex- 
claimed, 

“ There, go, now, for a pretty little picture, as you are ! 
I have helped them get up les tableaux vivans, at their great 
houses ; but you are my tableau. You are n’t good for much. 
You are nothing but a humming-bird, made to live on 
honey ! ” 

“ That ’s what I am ! ” said the little one. “ It takes a 
great deal of honey to keep me. I want to be praised, flat- 
tered, and loved, all the time. It is n’t enough to have you 
love me. I want to hear you tell me so every day, and 
hour, and minute. And I want you always to admire me, 
and praise everything that I do. Now — ” 

“ Particularly when you tear holes in packages ! ” said 
Harry. 

“ 0, my silk — my new silk dress !” said Lisette, thus 
reminded of the package which she held in her hand. 
“ This hateful string ! How it cuts my fingers ! I will 
break it ! I ’ll bite it in two. Harry, Harry, don’t you see 
how it hurts my fingers ? Why don’t you cut it ? ” 

A nd the little sprite danced about the cottage floor, tear- 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


65 


ing the paper, and tugging at the string, like an enraged 
humming-bird. Harry came laughing behind her, and, tak- 
ing hold of her two hands, held them quite still, while he 
cut the string of the parcel, and unfolded a gorgeous plaid 
silk, crimson, green, and orange. 

“ There, now, what do you think of that ? Miss Nina 
brought it, when she came home, last week.” 

“0, how lovely ! Is n’t she a beauty ? Is n’t she good ? 
How beautiful it is ! Dear me, dear me ! how happy I am ! 
How happy we are ! — an’t we, Harry ? ” 

A shadow came over Harry’s forehead as he answered, 
with a half-sigh, 

" Yes.” 

“ I was up at three o’clock, this morning, on purpose to 
get all my ironing done to-day, because I thought you were 
to come home to-night. Ah ! ah ! you don’t know what a 
supper I ’ve got ready ! You ’ll see, by and by. I ’m going 
to do something uncommon. You mustn’t look in that 
other room, Harry — you must n’t ! ” 

“ Must n’t I ? ” said Harry, getting up, and' going to the 
door. 

“There, now! who’s curiosity now, I wonder!” said 
6he, springing nimbly between him and the door. “ No, 
you shan’t go in, though. There, now ; don’t, don’t ! Be 
good now, Harry ! ” 

“ Well, I may as well give up first as last. This is your 
house, not mine, I suppose,” said Harry. 

“Mr. Submission, how meek we are, all of a sudden! 
Well, while the fit lasts, you go to the spring and get me 
some water to fill this tea-kettle. Off with you, now, this 
minute ! Mind you don’t stop to play by the way ! ” 

And, while Harry is gone to the spring, we will follow the 
wife into the forbidden room. Very cool and pleasant it 
is, with its white window-curtains, its matted floor, and 
displaying in the corner that draped feather-bed, with its 
ruffled pillows and fringed curtains, which it is the great 
ambition of the southern cabin to attain and maintain. 

6 * 


66 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


The door, which opened on to a show of most brilliant 
flowers, was overlaid completely by the lamarque rose we 
have before referred to ; and large clusters of its creamy 
blossoms, and wreaths of its dark-green leaves, had been 
enticed in and tied to sundry nails and pegs by the small 
hands of the little mistress, to form an arch of flowers and 
roses. A little table stood in the door, draped with a spot- 
less damasked table-cloth, fine enough for the use of a prin- 
cess, and only produced by the little mistress on festive 
occasions. On it were arranged dishes curiously trimmed 
with moss and vine-leaves, which displayed strawberries 
and peaches, with a pitcher of cream and one of whey, 
small dishes of curd, delicate cakes and biscuit, and fresh 
golden butter. 

After patting and arranging the table-cloth, Lisette tripped 
gayly around, and altered here and there the arrangement of 
a dish, occasionally stepping back, and cocking her little 
head on one side, much like a bird, singing gayly as she did 
so ; then she would pick a bit of moss from this, and a 
flower from that, and retreat again, and watch the effect. 

“ How surprised he will be 1 ” she said to herself. Still 
humming a tune in a low, gurgling undertone, she danced 
hither and thither, round the apartment. First she gave the 
curtains a little shake, and, unlooping one of them, looped 
it up again, so as to throw the beams of the evening sun on 
the table. 

“ There, there, there ! how pretty the light falls through 
those nasturtions ! I wonder if the room smells of the 
mignonette. I gathered it when the dew was on it, and 
they say that will make it smell all day. Now, here 's 
Harry's book-case. Dear me ! these flies ! How they do 
get on to everything ! Shoo, shoo I now, now ! ” and, 
catching a gay bandana handkerchief from the drawer, she 
perfectly exhausted herself in flying about the room in pur- 
suit of the buzzing intruders, who soared, and dived, and 
careered, after the manner of flies in general, seeming deter- 
mined to go anywhere but out of the door, and finally wero 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


67 


seen brushing their wings and licking their feet, with great 
alertness, on the very topmost height of the sacred bed-cur- 
tains ; and as just- this moment a glimpse was caught of 
Harry returning from the spring, Lisette was obliged to 
abandon the chase, and rush into the other room, to prevent 
a premature development of her little tea-tableau. Then a 
small, pug-nosed, black teakettle came on to the stage of 
action, from some unknown cupboard ; and Harry had to fill 
it with water, and of course spilt the water on to the ironing- 
table, which made another little breezy, chattering commo- 
tion ; and then the flat-irons were cleared away, and the pug- 
nosed kettle reigned in their stead on the charcoal brazier. 

“Now, Harry, was ever such a smart wife as I am? 
Only think, besides all the rest that I ’ve done, I ’ve ironed 
your white linen suit, complete ! Now, go put it on. Not 
in there 1 not in there ! ” she said, pushing him away from 
the door. “You can’t go there, yet. You’ll do well 
enough out here.” 

And away she went, singing through the garden walks ; 
and the song, floating back behind her, seemed like an odor 
brushed from the flowers. The refrain came rippling in at 
the door — 

“ Me think not what to-morrow bring; 

Me happy, so me sing ! ” 

“ Poor little thing ! ” said Harry to himself; “ why should 
I try to teach her anything ? ” 

In a few minutes she was back again, her white apron 
thrown over her arm, and blossoms of yellow jessamine, 
spikes of blue lavender, and buds of moss-roses, peeping out 
from it. She skipped gayly along, and deposited her treasure 
_>n the ironing-table ; then, with a zealous, bustling ear- 
aestness, which characterized everything she did, she began 
sorting them into two bouquets, alternately talking and 
singing, as she did so, 

« Come on, ye rosy hours, 

All joy and gladness bring ! ” 


68 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


“ You see, Harry, you ’re going to have a bouquet to put 
into the button-hole of that coat. It will make you look so 
handsome ! There, now — there, now, 

“ We ’ll strew the way with flowers, 

And merrily, merrily sing.” 

Suddenly stopping, she looked at him archly, and said, 
“ You can’t tell, now, what I ’m doing all this for ! ” 

“There’s never any telling what you women do any- 
thing for.” 

“Do hear him talk — so pompous! Well, sir, it’s for 
your birthday, now. Aha ! you thought, because I can’t 
keep the day of the month, that I did n’t know anything 
about it ; but I did. And I have put down now a chalk- 
mark every day, for four weeks, right under where I keep 
my ironing-account, so as to be sure of it. And I ’ve been 
busy about it ever since two o’clock this morning. And 
now — there, the tea-kettle is boiling ! ” — and away she 
flew to the door. 

“ 0, dear me ! — dear me, now ! — I ’ve killed myself, now, 
I have !” she cried, holding up one of her hands, and flirt- 
ing it up in the air. “ Dear me ! who knew it was so hot ? ” 

“ I should think a little woman that is so used to the 
holder might have known it,” said Harry, as he caressed 
the little burnt hand. , 

“ Come, now, let me carry it for you,” said Harry, “ and 
I ’ll make the tea, if you ’ll let me go into that mysterious 
room.” 

“Indeed, no, Harry — I’m going to do everything my- 
self; ” and, forgetting the burnt finger, Lisette was off in a 
moment, and back in a moment with a shining teapot in 
her hand, and the tea was made. And at last the mys- 
terious door opened, and Lisette stood with her eyes fixed 
upon Harry, to watch the effect. 

“ Superb ! — magnificent ! — splendid ! Why, this is good 
enough for a king ! And where did you get all these 
things ? ” said Harry. 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


69 


“ 0, out of our garden — all but the peaches. Those old 
Mist gave me — they come from Florida. There, now, you 
laughed at me, last summer, when I set those strawberry- 
vines, and made all sorts of fun of me. And what do you 
think now ? ” 

“Think! I think you’re a wonderful little thing — a 
perfect witch.” 

“Come, now, let’s sit down, then — you there, and I 
here.” And, opening the door of the bird-cage, which 
hung in the lamarque rose-bush, “Little Button shall come, 
too.” 

Button, a bright yellow canary, with a smart black tuft 
upon his head, seemed to understand his part in the little 
domestic scene perfectly ; for he stepped obediently upon 
the finger which was extended to him, and was soon sitting 
quite at his ease on the mossy edge of one of the dishes, 
pecking at the strawberries. 

“ And, now, do tell me,” said Lisette, “ all about Miss 
Nina. How does she look ? ” 

“Pretty and smart as ever,” said Harry. “Just the 
same witchy, wilful ways with her.” 

“ And did she show you her dresses ? ” 

“ 0, yes ; the whole.” 

“ 0, do tell me about them, Harry — do ! ” 

“ Well, there ’s a lovely pink gauze, covered with span* 
gles, to be worn over white satin.” 

“ With flounces ? ” said Lisette, earnestly. 

“ With flounces.” 

“ How many-? ” 

“ Really, I don’t remember.” 

“ Don’t remember how many floiinces ? Why, Harry 
how stupid ! Say, Harry, don’t you suppose she will let 
me come and look at her things ? ” 

“ 0, yes, dear, I don’t doubt she will ; and that will save 
my making a gazette of myself.” 

“ 0, when will you take me there, Harry ? ” 

“ Perhaps to-morrow, dear. And now,” said Harry, 


70 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


“that you have accomplished your surprise upon me, I 
have a surprise, in return, for you. You can’t guess, now, 
what Miss Nina brought for me.” 

“ No, indeed ! What ? ” said Lisette, springing up ; “do 
tell me — quick.” 

“ Patience — patience ! ” said Harry, deliberately fumbling 
in his pocket, amusing himself with her excited air. But 
who should speak the astonishment and rapture which 
widened Lisette’s dark eyes, when the watch was pro- 
duced ? She clapped her hands, and danced for joy, to the 
imminent risk of upsetting the table, and all the things 
on it. 

“ I do think we are the most fortunate people — you and 
I, Harry ! Everything goes just as we want it to — does n’t 
it, now ? ” 

Harry’s assent to this comprehensive proposition was 
much less fervent than suited his little wife. 

“ Now, what ’s the matter with you ? What goes wrong ? 
Why don’t you rejoice as I do ? ” said she, coming and seat- 
ing herself down upon his knee. “Come, now, you’ve 
been working too hard, I know. I ’m going to sing to you, 
now ; you want something to cheer you up.” And Lisette 
took down her banjo, and sat down in the doorway under 
the arch of lamarque roses, and began thrumming gayly. 

“ This is the nicest little thing, this banjo 1 ” she said ; 
“I would n’t change it for all the guitars in the world. 
Now, Harry, I ’m going to sing something specially for 
you ” And Lisette sung : * 


u What are the joys of white man, here, 
What are his pleasures, say ? 

He great, he proud, he haughty fine, 

While I my banjo play : 

He sleep all day, he wake all night ; 
He full of care, his heart no light ; 
He great deal want, he little get ; 
He sorry, so he fret. 

“ Me envy not the white man here. 

Though he so proud and gay ; 





HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


71 


He great, he proud, he haughty fine, 

While I my banjo play : 

JVS work all day, me sleep all night ; 
Me have no care, me heart is light ; 
Me think not what to-morrow bring ; 
Me happy, so me sing.” 


Lisette rattled the strings of the banjo, and sang with 
such a hearty abandon of enjoyment that it was a comfort 
to look at her. One would have thought that a bird's soul 
put into a woman's body would have sung just so. 

“ There," she said, throwing down her banjo, and seating 
herself on her husband's knee, “ do you know I think you 
are like white man in the song ? I should like to know what 
is the matter with you. I can see plain enough when you 
are not happy ; but I don't see why." 

“ 0, Lisette, I have very perplexing business to manage," 
said Harry. “ Miss Nina is a dear, good little mistress, but 
she does n't know anything about accounts, or money ; and 
here she has brought me home a set of bills to settle, and 
I 'm sure I don't know where the money is to be got from. 
It 's hard work to make the old place profitable in our days. 
The ground is pretty much worked up ; it doesn't bear the 
crops it used to. And, then, our people are so childish, they 
don't, a soul of them, care how much they spend, or how 
carelessly they work. It's very expensive keeping up such 
an establishment. You know the Gordons must be Gor- 
dons. Things can't be done now as some other families 
would do them ; and, then, those bills which Miss Nina 
brings from New York are perfectly frightful." 

“ Well, Harry, what are you going to do ?" said Lisette, 
nestling down close on his shoulder. “ You always know 
how to do something." 

“ Why, Lisette, I shall have to do what I 've done two 
or three times before — take the money that I have saved, 
to pay these bills — our freedom-money, Lisette." 

“ 0, well, then, don't worry ! We can get it again, you 
know. Why, you know, Harry, you can make a good deal 


72 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


with your trade, and one thing and another that you do ; 
and, then, as for me, why, you know, my ironing, and my 
muslins, how celebrated they are. Come, don’t worry one 
bit ; we shall get on nicely.” 

“ Ah ! But, Lisette, all this pretty house of ours, gar- 
den, and everything, is only built on air, after all, till we 
are free. Any accident can take it from us. Now, there ’s 
Miss Nina ; she is engaged, she tells me, to two or three 
lovers, as usual.” 

“ Engaged, is she ? ” said Lisette, eagerly, female cu- 
riosity getting the better of every other consideration ; 
“ she always did have lovers, just, you know, as I used to.” 

“ Yes ; but, Lisette, she will marry, some time, and what 
a thing that would be for you and me ! On her husband 
will depend all my happiness for all my life. He may set 
her against me ; he may not like me. 0, Lisette ! I ’ve seen 
trouble enough coming of marriages ; and I was hoping, 
you see, that before that time came the money for my free- 
dom would all be paid in, and I should be my own man. 
But, now, here it is. Just as the sum is almost made up, I 
must pay out five hundred dollars of it, and that throws us 
back two or three years longer. And what makes me feel 
the most anxious is, that I ’m pretty sure Miss Nina will 
marry one of these lovers before long.” 

“ Why, what makes you think so, Harry ? ” 

11 0, I ’ve seen girls before now, Lisette, and I know the 
signs.” 

“ What does she do ? What does she say ? Tell me, 
now, Harry.” 

“ 0, well, she runs on abusing the man, after her sort ; 
and she ’s so very earnest and positive in telling me she 
don’t like him.” 

“ Just the way I used to do about you, Harry, is n’t it ? ” 

“ Besides,” said Harry, “ I know, by the kind of charac- 
ter she gives of him, that she thinks of him very differently 
from what she ever did of any man before. Miss Nina 
little knows, when she is rattling about her beaux, what 1 ’m 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


73 


thinking of. I 'm saying, all the while, to myself, i Is that 
man going to be my master ? ' and this Clayton, 1 7 m very 
sure, is going to be my master.” 

“ Well, is n't he a good man ? ” 

“ She says he is ; but there 's never any saying what good 
men vdll do, never. Good men think it right sometimes to 
do the strangest things. This man may alter the whole 
agreement between us, — he will have a right to do it, if he 
is her nusband ; he may refuse to let me buy myself; and, 
then, all the money that I 've paid will go for nothing.” 

“But, certainly, Harry, Miss Nina will never -consent to 
such a thing.” 

“ Lisette, Miss Nina is one thing, but Mrs. Clayton may 
be quite another thing. I 've seen all that , over and over 
again. I tell you, Lisette, that we who live on other peo- 
ple's looks and wofds, we watch and think a great deal ! 
Ah ! we come to be very sharp, I can tell you. The more 
Miss Nina has liked me, the less her husband may like me ; 
don't you know that ? ” 

“ No ; Harry, you don't dislike people I like.” 

“ Child, child, that 's quite another thing.” 

“ Well, then, Harry, if you feel so bad about it, what 
makes you pay this money for Miss Nina ? She don't 
know anything about it ; she don't ask you to. I don't 
believe she would want you to, if she did know it. Just go 
and pay it in, and have your freedom-papers made out. 
Why don't you tell her all about it ? ” 

11 No, I can't, Lisette. I 've had the care of her all her 
life, and I 've made it as smooth as I could for her, and I 
won't begin to trouble her now. Bo you know, too, that 
I 'm afraid that, perhaps, if she knew all about it, she 
would n't do the right thing. There 's never any knowing, 
Lisette. Now, you see, I say to myself, ' Poor little thing ! 
she does n't know anything about accounts, and she don't 
know how I feel.' But, if I should tell her, and she should n't 
care, and act as I 've seen women act, why, then, you know, 
7 


74 


HARRY AND HIS \vTFE. 


I could n't think so any more. I don't believe she would, 
mind you ; but, then, I don't like to try." 

11 Harry, what does make you love her so much ? " 

“ Don't you know, Lisette, that Master Tom was a dread- 
ful bad boy, always wilful and wayward, almost broke his 
father’s heart ; and he was always ugly and contrary to her ? 
I 'm sure I don't know why ; for she was a sweet little thing, 
and she loves him now, ugly as he is, and he is the most 
selfish creature I ever saw. And, as for Miss Nina, she 
is n’t selfish — she is only inconsiderate. But I 've known 
her do for him, over and over, just what I do for her, giving 
him her money and her jewels to help him out of a scrape. 
But, then, to be sure, it all comes upon me, at last, which 
makes it all the more aggravating. Now, Lisette, 1 'm 
going to tell you something, but you mustn’t tell anybody. 
Nina Gordon is my sister ! " 

“ Harry ! " 

'Yes, Lisette, you may well open your eyes," said 
Harry, rising involuntarily ; “I'm Colonel Gordon's oldest 
son ! Let me have the comfort of saying it once, if I never 
do again." 

“ Harry, who told you ? " 

“ He told me, Lisette — he, himself, told me, when he was 
dying, and charged me always to watch over her ; and I have 
done it! I never told Miss Nina; I wouldn't have her 
told for the world. It would n't make her love me ; more 
likely it would turn her against me. I 've seen many a man 
sold for nothing else but looking too much like his father, or 
his brothers and sisters. I was given to her, and my 
sister and my mother went out to Mississippi with Miss 
Nina's aunt." 

“ I never heard you speak of this sister, Harry. Was she 
pretty ? " 

“ Lisette, she was beautiful, she was graceful, and she 
had real genius. I 've heard many singers on the stage 
that could not sing, with all their learning, as she did by 
nature/ 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


75 


“ Well, what became of her ? " 

“ 0, what becomes of such women always, among us I 
Nursed, and petted, and caressed ; taught everything ele- 
gant, nothing solid. Why, the woman meant well enough 
that had the care of her, — Mrs. Stewart, Colonel Gordon's 
sister, — but she couldn't prevent her son's wanting her, 
and taking her, for his mistress ; and when she died there 
she was." 

“ Well." 

“ When George Stewart had lived with her two or three 
years, he was taken with small-pox. You know what per- 
fect horror that always creates. None of his white acquaint- 
ances and friends would come near his plantation ; the 
negroes were all frightened to death, as usual ; overseer ran 
off. Well, then Cora Gordon's blood came up ; she nursed 
him all through that sickness. What 's more, she had influ- 
ence to keep order on the place ; got the people to get- 
ting the cotton crops themselves, so that when the overseer 
came sneaking back, things had n't all gone to ruin, as they 
might have done. Well, the young fellow had more in him 
than some of them do ; for when he got well he left his 
plantation, took her up to Ohio, and married her, and lived 
with her there." 

“Why didn't he live with her on his plantation ? " said 
Lisette. 

“ He could n't have freed her there ; it ’s against the laws. 
But, lately, I 've got a letter from her saying that he had 
died and left to her and her son all his property on the 
Mississippi." 

“ Why, she will be rich, won't she ? " 

“Yes, if she gets it. But there 's no knowing how that 
will be; there are fifty ways of cheating her out of it, I 
suppose. But, now, as to Miss Nina's estate, you don't 
know how I feel about it. 1 was trusted with it, and trusted 
with her. She never has known, more than a child, where 
the money came from, or went to ; and it shan't be said that 
I 've brought the estate in debt, for the sake of getting my 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 

own liberty. If I have one pride in life, it is to give it up 
to Miss Nina’s husband in good order. But, then, the 
trouble of it, Lisette ! The trouble of getting anything like 
decent work from these creatures ; the ways that I have to 
turn and twist to get round them, and manage them, to get 
anything done. They hate me ; they are jealous of me. 
Lisette, I ’m just like the bat in the fable ; I ’m neither bird 
nor beast. How often I ’ve wished that I was a good, hon- 
est, black nigger, like Uncle Pomp I Then I should know 
what I was ; but, now, I ’m neither one thing nor another. 
I come just near enough to the condition of the white to look 
into it, to enjoy it, and want everything that I see. Then, 
the way I ’ve been educated makes it worse. The fact is, 
that when the fathers of such as we feel any love for us, it 
is n’t like the love they have for their white children. They 
are half-ashamed of us ; they are ashamed to show their love, 
if they have it ; and, then, there ’s a kind of remorse and pity 
about it, which they make up to themselves by petting us. 
They load us with presents and indulgences. They amuse 
themselves with us while we are children, and play off all our 
passions as if we were instruments to bo played on. If we 
show talent and smartness, we hear some one say, aside, ' It ’s 
rather a pity, is n’t it ? ’ or, ' lie is too smart for his place.’ 
Then, we have all the family blood and the family pride ; and 
what to do with it ? I feel that I am a Gordon. I feel in 
my very heart that I ’m like Colonel Gordon — I know I am ; 
and, sometimes, I know I look like him, and that ’s one 
reason why Tom Gordon always hated me; an'" 1 then, 
there ’s another thing, the hardest of all, to have a sister like 
Miss Nina, to feel she is my sister, and never dare to say a 
word of it ! She little thinks, when she plays and jokes 
with me, sometimes, how 1 feel. I have eyes and senses ; 
I can compare myself with Torn Gordon. I know he never 
would learn anything at any of the schools he was put to ; 
and I know that when his. tutors used to teach me, how 
much faster I got along than he did. .And yet he must 
have all the position, and all the respect ; and, then, Miss 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


7 / 


Nina so often says to me, by way of apology, when she puts 
up with his ugliness, ' Ah ! well, you know, Harry, he is the 
only brother I have got in the world ! ' Is n't it too bad ? 
Col. Gordon gave me every advantage of education, because 
I think he meant me for just this place which I fill. Miss Nina 
was his pet. He was wholly absorbed in her, and he was 
frightened at Tom's wickedness ; and so he left me bound to 
the estate in this way, only stipulating that I should buy 
myself on favorable terms before Miss Nina's marriage. 
She has always been willing enough. I might have taken 
any and every advantage of her inconsiderateness. And 
Mr. John Gordon has been willing, too, and has been very 
kind about it, and has signed an agreement as guardian, 
and Miss Nina has signed it too, that, in case of her death, 
or whatever happened, I 'm to have my freedom on paying 
a certain sum, and I have got his receipts for what I have 
paid. So that 's tolerably safe. Lisette, I had meant never 
to have been married till I was a free man ; but, somehow, 
you bewitched me into it. I did very wrong." 

“ 0, pshaw ! pshaw ! " interrupted Lisette. “ I an't going 
to hear another word of this talk ! What 's the use ? We 
shall do well enough. Everything will come out right, — 
you see if it don't, now. I was always lucky, and I always 
shall be." 

The conversation was here interrupted by a loud whoop- 
ing, and a clatter of horse's heels. 

“ What 's that ? " said Harry, starting to the window. 
“ As 1 ' live, now, if there is n't that wretch of a Tomtit, 
going off with that horse ! How came he here ? He will 
ruin him ! Stop there ! hallo ! " he exclaimed, running out 
of doors after Tomtit. 

Tomtit, however, only gave a triumphant whoop, and dis- 
appeared among the pine-trees. 

“ Well, I should like to know what sent him here ! " said 
Harry, walking up and down, much disturbed. 

“ 0, he is only going round through the grove ; he will 
7 * 


78 


HARRY AKD HIS WIFE* 


be back again,” said Lisette ; “ never fear. Is n’t he a hand- 
some little rogue ? ” 

“ Lisette, you never can see trouble anywhere ! ” said 
Harry, almost angrily. 

“ Ah ! yes, I do,” said Lisette, “ when you speak in that 
tone I Please don’t, Harry ! What should you want me to 
see trouble for ? ” 

“ I don’t know, you little thing,” said Harry, stroking 
her head fondly. 

“ Ah, there comes the little rascal, just as I knew he 
would!” said Lisette. “He only wanted to take a little 
race ; he has n’t hurt the horse ; ” and, tripping lightly out, 
she caught the reins, just as Tomtit drove up to the gate ; 
and it seemed but a moment before he was over in the gar- 
den, with his hands full of flowers. 

“ Stop, there, you young rascal, and tell me what sent 
you here ! ” said Harry, seizing him, and shaking him by the 
shoulder. 

“ Laws, Massa Harry, I wants to get peaches, like other 
folks,” said the boy, peeping roguishly in at the window, 
at the tea-table. 

“And he shall have a peach, too,” said Lisette, “and 
some flowers, if he ’ll be a good boy, and not tread on my 
borders.” 

Tomtit seized greedily at the peach she gave him, and, 
sitting flat down where he stood, and throwing the flowers 
on the ground beside him, began eating it with an earnest- 
ness of devotion as if his whole being were concentrated in 
the act. The color was heightened in his brown cheek by 
the exercise, and, with his long, drooping curls and eye- 
lashes, he looked a very pretty centre to the flower-piece 
which he had so promptly improvised. 

“ Ah, how pretty he is ! ” said Lisette, touching Harry’s 
elbow. “ I wish he was mine ! ” 

“ You ’d have your hands full, if he was,” said Harry, 
eying the intruder discontentedly, whi'e Lisette stood pick- 


HARRY AND HIS WIFE. 


79 


ing the hulls from a fine bunch of strawberries which, she 
was ready to give him when he had finished the peach. 

11 Beauty makes fools of all you girls, ” said Harry, cyni- 
cally. 

“ Is that the reason I married you ? ” said Lisette, archly. 
“ Well, I know I could make him good, if I had the care of 
him. Nothing like coaxing ; is there, Tom ? ” 9 

“ I ’ll boun' there an't ! ” said Tom, opening his mouth for 
the strawberries with much the air of a handsome, saucy 
robin. 

“ Well,” said Harry, “ I should like to know what brought 
him over here. Speak, now, Tom I Were n't you sent 
with some message ? ” 

“ 0 laws, yes ! ” said Tom, getting up, and scratching 
his curly head. “ Miss Nina sent me. She wants you to 
get on dat ar horse, and make tracks for home like split 
foot. She done got letters from two or three of her beaux, 
and she is dancing and tearing round there real awful. She 
done got scared, spects ; feard they 'd all come together.” 

11 And she sent you on a message, and you have n't told 
me, all this time ! ” said Harry, making a motion as though 
he was going to box the child's ears ; but the boy glided out 
of his hands as if he had been water, and was gone, van- 
ishing among the shrubbery of the garden ; and while Harry 
was mounting his horse, he reappeared on the roof of the 
little cabin, caricoling and dancing, shouting at the topmost 
of his voice — 

“ Away down old Yirginny, 

Dere I bought a yellow girl for a guinea.” 

“ I '11 give it to you, some time ! ” said Harry, shaking his 
fist at him. 

11 No, he won't, either,” cried Lisette, laughing. “ Come 
down here, Tomtit, and I '11 make a good boy of you.” 


CHAPTER Vl. 


I 


THE DILEMMA. 

In order to understand the occasion which hurried Harry 
home, we must go back to Canema. Nina, after taking her 
letters from the hands of Tomtit, as we have related, ran 
back with them into Mrs. Nesbit’s room, and sat herself 
down to read them. As she read, she evidently became 
quite excited and discomposed, crumpling a paper with her 
little hand, and tapping her foot impatiently on the carpet. 

“ There, now, I ’m sure I don’t know what I shall do, Aunt 
Nesbit ! ” addressing her aunt, because it was her out- 
spoken habit to talk to any body or thing which happened 
to be sitting next to her. “ I ’ve got myself into a pretty 
scrape now 1 ” 

“ I told you you ’d get into trouble, one of these days 1 ” 

“ 0, you told me so 1 if there ’s anything I hate, it is to 
have anybody tell me * I told you so ! 1 But, now, aunt, 
really, I know I ’ve been foolish, but I don’t know what 
to do. Here are two gentlemen coming together, that I 
would n’t have meet each other here- for the world ; and I 
don’t know really whfct I had better do.” 

“ You ’d better do Just as you please, as you always do, 
and always would, ever since I knew you,” said Aunt Nes- 
bit, in a calm, indifferent tone. 

“ But, really ,. aunt, I don’t know what ’s proper to do in 
such a case.” 

“ Your and my notions of propriety, Nina, are so differ- 
ent, that I don’t know how to advise you. You see the 
consequences, now, of not attending to the advice of your 


THE DILEMMA. 


81 


friends. I always knew these flirtations of yours would 
bring you into trouble.” And Aunt Nesbit said this with 
that quiet, satisfied air with which precise elderly people 
so often edify their thoughtless young friends under diffi- 
culties. 

“ Well, I did n’t want a sermon, now, Aunt Nesbit ; but, 
as you ’ve seen a great deal more of the worlAthan I have, 
I thought you might help me a little, just to tell me whether 
it would n’t be proper for me to write and put one of these 
gentlemen off ; or make some excuse for me, or something. 
I ’m sure I never kept house before. I don’t want to do 
anything that don’t seem hospitable ; and yet I don’t want 
them to come together. Now, there, that ’s flat ! ” 

There was a long pause, in which Nina sat vexed and 
coloring, biting her lips, and nestling uneasily in her seat. 

Mrs. Nesbit looked calm and considerate, and Nina be- 
gan to hope that she was taking the case a little to heart. 

At last the good old lady looked up, and said, very qui- 
etly, “ I wonder what time it is.” 

Nina thought she was debating the expediency of sending 
some message ; and therefore she crossed the room with 
great alacrity, to look at the old clock in the entry. 

“ It ’s half-past two, aunt ! ” and she stood, with her lips 
apart, looking at Mrs. Nesbit for some suggestion. 

“ I was going to tell Rosa,” said she, abstractedly, “ that 
that onion in the stuffing does not agree with me. It rose 
on my stomach all yesterday morning; but it’s too late 
now.” 

Nina actually stamped with anger. 

“Aunt Nesbit, you are the most selfish person I ever saw 
in my life ! ” 

“Nina, child, you astonish me ! ” aid Aunt Nesbit, with 
her wonted placidity. “ What ’s the matter ? ” 

“ I don’t care ! ” said Nina, “ I don’t care a bit I I don’t 
see how people can be so ! If a dog should come to me 
and tell me he was in trouble, I think I should listen to him, 
and show some kind of interest to help him ! I don’t care 


82 


THE DILEMMA. 


how foolish anybody has been ; if they are in trouble, I 
help them, if I could ; and I think you might think enough 
of it to give me some little advice ! ” 

“ 0, you are talking about that affair, yet ? ” said her 
aunt. “ Why, I believe I told you I did n’t know what to 
advise, did n’t I ? Should n’t give way to this temper, 
Nina ; it ’s very unladylike, besides being sinful. But, 
then, I don’t suppose it ’s any use for me to talk I ” And 
Aunt Nesbit, with an abused air, got up, walked quietly to 
the looking-glass, took off her morning cap, unlocked her 
drawer, and laid it in ; took out another, which Nina could 
not see differed a particle from the last, held it up thought- 
fully on her hand, and appeared absorbed in the contempla- 
tion of it, — while Nina, swelling with a mixture of anger 
and mortification, stood regarding her as she leisurely picked 
out each bow, and finally, with a decorous air of solemnity, 
arranged it upon her head, patting it tenderly down. 

“ Aunt Nesbit,” she said, suddenly, as if the words hurt 
her, “ I think I spoke improperly, and I ’m very sorry for it. 
I beg your pardon.” 

“ 0, it ’s no matter, child ; I did n’t care about it. I ’m 
pretty well used to your temper.” 

Bang went the door, and in a moment Nina stood in the 
entry, shaking her fist at it with impotent wrath. 

“You stony, stiff, disagreeable old creature I how came 
you ever to be my mother’s sister ? ” And, with the word 
mother, she burst into a tempest of tears, and rushed vio- 
lently to her own chamber. The first object that she saw 
was Milly, arranging some clothes in her drawer ; and, to her 
astonishment, Nina rushed up to her, and, throwing her 
arms round her neck, sobbed and wept, in such tumultuous 
excitement, that the good creature was alarmed. 

“ Laws bless my soul, my dear little lamb ! what ’s the 
matter ? Why, don’t I Don’t, honey ! Why, bless the 
dear little soul ! bless the dear precious lamb ! who ’s been 
a hurting of it ? ” And, at each word of endearment, Nina’s 


THE DILEMMA. 


83 


distress broke out afresh, and she sobbed so bitterly that 
the faithful creature really began to be frightened. 

“Laws, Miss Nina, I hope there an’t nothing happened 
to you now ! ” 

“No, no, nothing, Milly, only I am lonesome, and I want 
my mother ! I have n’t got any mother ! Dear me ! ” she 
said, with a fresh burst. ^ 

“Ah, the poor thing!” said Milly, compassionately, sit- 
ting down, and fondling Nina in her arms, as if she had been 
a babe. “ Poor chile ! Laws, yes ; I ’member your ma 
was a beautiful woman I ” 

“ Yes,” said Nina, speaking between her sobs, “ the girls 
at school had mothers. And there was Mary Brooks, she 
used to read to me her mother’s letters, and I used to feel 
so, all the while, to think nobody wrote such letters to me ! 
And there ’s Aunt Nesbit — I don’t care what they say about 
her being religious, she is the most selfish, hateful creature 
[ ever did see ! I do believe, if I was lying dead and laid 
out in the next room to her, she would be thinking what 
she ’d get next for dinner ! ” 

“ 0, don’t, my poor lamb, don’t ! ” said Milly, compas- 
sionately. 

“Yes, I will, too ! She ’s always taking it for granted 
that I ’m the greatest sinner on the face of the earth ! She 
don’t scold me — she don’t care enough about me to scold ! 
She only takes it for granted, in her hateful, quiet way, that 
I ’m going to destruction, and that she can’t help it, and 
don’t care \ Supposing I ’m not good ! — what ’s to make me 
good ? Is it going to make me good for people to sit up so 
stiff, and tell me they always knew I was a fool, and a fiirt, 
and all that ? Milly, I ’ve had dreadful turns of wanting to 
be good, and I ’ve laid awake nights and cried because I 
was n’t good. And what makes it worse is, that I think, if 
Ma was alive, she could help me. She was n’t like Aunt 
Nesbit, was she, Milly ? ” 

“No, honey, she was n’t. I ’ll tell you about your ma, 
some time, honey.” 


84 


THE DILEMMA. 


“The worst of it is,” said Nina, “ when Aunt Nesbit 
speaks to me in her hateful way, I get angry ; then I Speak 
in a way that is n’t proper, I know. 0, if she only would 
get angry with me back again ! or if she ’d do anything in 
the world but stand still, in her still way, telling me she is 
astonished at me ! That ’s a lie, too ; for she never was 
astonished at anything in her life ! She has n’t life enough 
to be ! ” 

“Ah, Miss Nina, we mustn’t spect more of folks than 
there is in them.” 

“ Expect ? I don’t expect ! ” 

“ Well, bless you, honey, when you knows what folks 
is, don’t let ’s worry. Ye can’t fill a quart-cup out of a 
thimble, honey, no way you can fix it. There ’s just whar 
’t is. I knowed your ma, and I ’s knowed Miss Loo, ever 
since she was a girl. ’Pears like they wan’t no more alike 
than snow is like sugar. Miss Loo, when she was a girl, 
she was that pretty, that everybody was wondering after 
her ; but to de love, dat ar went arter your ma. Could n’t 
tell why it was, honey. ’Peared like Miss Loo wan’t 
techy, nor she wan’t one of your bursting-out sort, scold- 
ing round. ’Peared like she ’d never hurt nobody ; and yet 
our people, they could n’t none of dem bar her. ’Peared 
like nobody did nothing for her with a will.” 

“ Well, good reason ! ” said Nina; “she never did any- 
thing for anybody else with a will I ? >he never cared for 
anybody 1 Now, I ’m selfish ; I always knew it. I do a 
great many selfish things ; but it ’s a different kind from 
hers. Do you know, Milly, she don’t seem to know she is 
selfish ? There she sits, rocking in her old chair, so sure 
she ’s going straight to heaven, and don’t care whether 
anybody else gets there or not I ” 

“ 0 laws, now, Miss Nina, you ’s too hard on her. Why, 
look how patient she sits with Tomtit, teaching him his 
hymns and varses.” 

“ And you think that ’s because she cares anything about 
him ? Do you know she thinks he is n’t fit to go to heaven. 


THE DILEMMA. 


85 


and that if he dies he’ 11 go to the bad place. And yet, if 
he was to die to-morrow, she ’d talk to you about clear- 
starching her caps ! No wonder the child don’t love her ! 
She talks to him just as she does to me ; tells him she 
don’t expect anything of him — she knows he ’ll never 
come to any good ; and the little wretch has got it by heart, 
now. Do you know that, though I get in a passion with 
Tom, sometimes, and though I ’m sure I should perish sit- 
ting boring with him over those old books, yet I really 
believe I care more for him than she does ? And he knows 
it, too. He sees through her as plain as I do. You ’ll 
never make me believe that Aunt Nesbit has got religion. 
I know there is such a thing as religion ; but she hasn’t got 
it. It is n’t all being sober, and crackling old stiff religious 
newspapers, and boring with texts and hymns, that makes 
people religious. She is just as worldly-minded as I am, 
only it’s in another way. There, now, I wanted her to 
advise me about something, to-day. Why, Milly, all girls 
want somebody to talk with ; and if she ’d only showed 
the least interest in what I said, she might scold me and 
lecture me as much as she ’d a mind to. But, to have her 
not even hear me ! And when she must have seen that I was 
troubled and perplexed, and wanted somebody to advise 
me, she turned round so cool, and began to talk about the 
onions and the stuffing ! Got me so angry ! I suppose she 
is in her room, now^ rocking, and thinking what a sinner I 
am ! ” 

“ Well, now, Miss Nina, ’pears though you’ve talked 
enough about dat ar ; ’pears like it won’t make you feel 
no better.” 

“ Yes it does make me feel better ! I had to speak to 
somebody, Milly, or else I should have burst ; and now J 
wonder where Harry is. He always could find a way for 
me out of anything.” 

“ ne is gone over to see his wife, I think, Miss Nina.” 

“ 0, too bad ! Do send Tomtit after him, right away. 
Tell him that I want him to come right home, this very 
8 


86 


THE DILEMMA. 


minute — something very particular. And, Milly, you just 
go and tell Old Hundred to get out the carriage and horses, 
and I ’ll go over and drop a note in the post-office, myself. 
I won’t trust it to Tomtit ; for I know h© ’ll lose it.” 

“ Miss Nina,” said Milly, looking hesitatingly, “ I ’spect 
you don’t know how things go about round here ; but the 
fact is, Old Hundred has got so kind of cur’ous, lately, 
there can’t nobody do nothing with him, except Harry. 
Don’t ’tend to do nothing Miss Loo tells him to. I ’s feared 
he ’ll make up some story or other about the horses ; but 
he won’t get ’em out — now, mind, I tell you, chile 1 ” 

“ He won’t ! I should like to know if he won’t,. when I 
tell him to ! A pretty story that would be ! I ’ll soon teach 
him that he has a live mistress — somebody quite different 
from Aunt Loo ! ” 

“ Well, well, chile, perhaps you ’d better go. He would n’t 
mind me, I know. Maybe he ’ll do it for you.” 

“ 0, yes ; I ’ll just run down to his house, and hurry him 
up,” And Nina, quite restored to her usual good-humor, 
tripped gayly across to the cabin of Old Hundred, that 
stood the other side of the house. 

Old Hundred’s true name was, in fact, John. But he had 
derived the appellation by which he was always known, 
from the extreme moderation of all his movements. Old 
Hundred had a double share of that profound sense of the 
dignity of his office which- is an attribute of the tribe of 
coachmen in general. He seemed to consider the horses 
and carriage as a sort of family ark, of which he was the 
high priest, and which it was his business to save from 
desecration. According to his own showing, all the people 
on the plantation, and indeed the whole world in general, 
were in a state of habitual conspiracy against the family 
carriage and horses, and he was standing for them, sin- 
gle-handed, at the risk of his life. It was as much part 
of his duty, in virtue of his office, to show cause, on every 
occasion, why the carriage should not be used, as it is for 
state attorneys to undertake prosecutions. And it was also 


THE DILEMMA. 


87 


a part of the accomplishment of his situation to conduct his 
refusal in the most decorous manner ; always showing that 
it was only the utter impossibility of the case which pre- 
vented. The available grounds of refusal Old Ilundred had 
made a life^study, and had always a store of them cut and 
dried for use, all ready at a moment’s notice. In the first 
place, there were always a number of impossibilities with 
regard to the carriage. Either “ it was muddy, and he was 
laying out to wash it;” or else “he had washed it, and 
couldn’t have it splashed;” or “he had taken out the 
back curtain, and had laid out to put a stitch in it, one of 
dese yer days ; ” or there was something the matter with 
the irons. “He reckoned they was a little bit sprung.” 
He “ ’lowed he ’d ask the blacksmith about it, some of these 
yer times.” And, then, as to the horses the possibilities 
were rich and abundant. What with strains, and loose 
shoes, and stones getting in at the hoofs, dangers of all 
sorts of complaints, for which he had his own vocabulary 
of names, it was next to an impossibility, according to 
any ordinary rule of computing chances, that the two 
should be in complete order together. 

Utterly ignorant, however, of the magnitude of the under- 
taking which she was attempting, and buoyant with the 
consciousness of authority, Nina tripped singing along, 
.and found Old Hundred tranquilly reclining in his tent-door, 
watching through his half-shut eyes, while the afternoon 
sunbeam irradiated the smoke which rose from the old pipe 
between his teeth. A large, black, one-eyed crow sat 
perching, with a quizzical air, upon his knee ; and when 
he heard Nina’s footsteps approaching, cocked his remain- 
ing eye towards her, with a smart, observing attitude, as if 
he had been deputed to look out for applications while his 
master dozed. Between this crow, who had received the 
sobriquet of Uncle Jeff, and his master, there existed a 
most particular bond of friendship and amity. This was 
further strengthened by the fact that they were both 
equally disliked by all the inhabitants of the place Like 


88 


THE DILEMMA. 


many people who are called to stand in responsible posi- 
tions, Old Hundred had rather failed in the humble virtues, 
and become dogmatical and dictatorial to that degree that 
nobody but his own wife could do anything with him. And 
as to Jeff, if the principle of thievery could be incarnate, he 
might have won a temple among the Lacedemonians. Ir 
various skirmishes and battles consequent on his misdeeds, 
Jeff had lost an eye, and had a considerable portion of the 
feathers scalded off on one side of his head ; while the re* 
maining ones, discomposed by the incident, ever after stood 
up in a protesting attitude, imparting something still more 
sinister to his goblin appearance. In another rencounter 
he had received a permanent twist in the neck, which gave 
him always the appearance of looking over his shoulder, 
and added not a little to the oddity of the general effect. 
Uncle Jeff thieved with an assiduity and skill which were 
worthy of a better cause ; and, when not upon any serious 
enterprise of this kind, employed his time in pulling up 
corn, scratching up newly-planted flower-seeds, tangling 
yarn, pulling out knitting-needles, pecking the eyes of 
sleeping people, scratching and biting children, and any 
other little miscellaneous mischief which occurred to him. 
He was invaluable to Old Hundred, because he was a 
standing apology for any and all discoveries made on his 
premises of things which ought not to have been there 
No matter what was brought to light, — whether spoons from 
the great house, or a pair of sleeve-buttons, or a handker- 
chief, or a pipe from a neighboring cabin, — Jeff was always 
called up to answer. Old Hundred regularly scolded, on 
these occasions, and declared he was enough to “ spile the 
character of any man’s house.” And Jeff would look at 
him comically over the shoulder, and wink his remaining 
eye, as much as to say that the scolding was a settled 
thing between them, and that he was n’t going to take it at 
all in ill part. 

“ Uncle John,” said Nina, “ I want you to get the car- 


THE DILEMMA. 


89 


riage out for me, right away. I want to take a ride over 
the cross run.” 

“ Laws bless you sweet face, honey, chile, I ’s dreadful 
sorry ; but you can’t do it dis yer day.” 

“ Can’t do it 1 why not ? ” 

“ Why, bless you, chile, it an’t possible, no way. Can’t 
have the carriage and hosses dis yer arternoon.” 

“ But I must go over to cross run to the post-office. I 
must go this minute 1 ” 

“Law, chile, you can’t do it! fur you can’t walk, and 
it ’s sartain you can’t ride, because dese yer hosses, nor dis 
yer carriage, can’t stir out dis yer arternoon, no way you 
can fix it. Mout go, perhaps, to-morrOw, or next week.” 

“ 0, Uncle John, I don’t believe a word of it ! I want 
them this afternoon, and I say I must have them ! ” 

“ No, you can’t, chile,” said Old Hundred, in a tender, 
condescending tone, as if he was speaking to a baby. “ I 
tell you dat ar is impossible. Why, bless your soul, Miss 
Nina, de curtains is all off de carriage ! ” 

“ Well, put them on again, then ! ” 

“Ah, Miss Nina, dat ar an’t all. Pete was desperate 
sick, last night ; took with de thumps, powerful bad. Why, 
Miss Nina, he was dat sick I had to be up with him most all 
night ! ” And, while Old Hundred thus adroitly issued this 
little work of fiction, the raven nodded waggishly at Nina, 
as much as to say, “You hear that fellow, now ! ” 

Nina stood quite perplexed, biting her lips, and Old Hun- 
dred seemed to go into a profound slumber. 

“ I don’t believe but what the horses can go to-day ! I 
mean to go and look.” 

“ Laws, honey, chile, ye can’t, now ; de do’s is all locked, 
and I ’ve got de key in my pocket. Every one of dem 
critturs would have been killed forty times over ’fore now. 
I think everybody in dis yer world is arter dem dar crit- 
turs. Miss Loo, she ’s wanting ’em to go one way, and 
Harry ’s allers usin’ de critturs. Got one out, dis yer arter- 
uoon, riding over to see his wife Don’t see no use in his 
8 * 


90 


THE DILEMMA. 


riding round so grand, noway ! Laws, Miss Nina, you- 7 
pa used to say to me, says he, 1 Uncle John, you knows 
more about dem critturs dan I do ; and, now I tell you what 
it is, Uncle John — you take care of dem critturs ; don’t you 
let nobody kill ’em for nothing.’ Now, Miss Nina, I ’s 
always a walking in the steps of the colonel’s ’rections. 
Now, good, clar, bright weather, over good roads, I likes to 
trot the critturs out. Dat ar is reasonable. But, den, what 
roads is over the cross run, I want to know ? Dem dere 
roads is de most mis’ablest things you ever did see. Mud I 
Hi ! Ought for to see de mud down dar by de creek ! Why, 
de bridge all tared off! Man drowned in dat dar creek 
once ! Was so ! It an’t no sort of road for young ladies 
to go over. Tell you, Miss Nina ; why don’ you let Harry 
carry your letter over ? If he must be ridin’ round de 
country, don’t see why he could n’t do some good wid his 
ridin’. Why, de carriage would n’t get over before ten 
o’clock, dis yer night ! Now, mine, I tell you. Besides, 
it ’s gwine fur to rain. I ’s been feeling dat ar in my corns, 
all dis yer morning ; and Jeff, he ’s been acting like the berry 
debil hisself — de way he always does ’fore it rains. Never 
knowed dat ar sign to fail.” 

“The short of the matter is, Uncle - John, you are deter- 
mined not to go,” said Nina. “ But I tell you you shall 
go ! — there, now I Now, do you get up immediately, and 
get out those horses ! ” 

Old Hundred still sat quiet, smoking ; and Nina, after reit- 
erating her orders till she got thorougnly angry, began, at 
last, to ask herself the question, how she was going to carry 
them into execution. Old Hundred appeared to have de- 
scended into himself in a profound revery, and betrayed 
not the smallest sign of hearing anything she said. 

“ I wish Harry would come back quick,” she said to her- 
self, as she pensively retraced her steps through the garden ; 
but Tomtit had taken the commission to go for him in his 
usual leisurely way spending the greater part of the after- 
noon on the road. 


THE DILEMMA. 


91 


“ Now, an't you ashamed of yourself, you mean old nig- 
ger ! '' said Aunt Rose, the wife of Old Hundred, who had 
been listening to the conversation ; “ talking 'bout de creek, 
and de mud, and de critturs, and lor knows what all, when 
we all knows it 's nothing but your laziness ! " 

“Well," said Old Hundred, “and what would come o' 
the critturs if I was n't lazy, I want to know ? Laziness I 
it 's the berry best thing for the critturs can be. Where 'd 
dem horses a been now, if I had been one of your highfelu- 
tin sort, always driving round ? Where 'd dey a been, 
and what would dey a been, hey ? Who wants to see hosses 
all skin and bone ? Lord ! if I had been like some o' de 
coachmen, de buzzards would have had the picking of dem 
critturs, long ago ! " 

“ I rally believe that you've told dem dar lies till you 
begin to believe them yourself! " said Rose. “ Telling our 
dear, sweet young lady about your being up with Pete all 
night, when de Lord knows you laid here snoring fit to tar 
de roof off! " 

“ Well, must say something ! Folks must be 'spectful to 
de ladies. Course I could n't tell her I would n\t take de 
critturs out ; so I just trots out scuse. Ah ! lots of dem 
scuses I keeps ! I tell you, now, scuses is excellent things. 
Why, scuses is like dis yer grease that keeps de wheels 
from screaking. Lord bless you, de whole world turns round 
on scuses. Whar de world be if everybody was such fools 
to tell the raal reason for everything they are gwine for to 
do, or an't gwine fur to ! ” 


CHAPTER VII. 


CONSULTATION. 

“ 0, Harry, [ 'm so glad to see you back ! In such 
trouble as I 've been to-day ! Don't you think, this very 
morning, as 1 was sitting in Aunt Nesbit's room, Tomtit 
brought up these two letters ; and one of them is from Clay- 
ton, and the other from Mr. Carson ; and, now, see here what 
Clayton says : 1 1 shall have business that will take me in 
your vicinity next week ; and it is quite possible, unless I 
hear from you to the contrary, that you may see me at Ca- 
nema next Friday or Saturday.' Well, then, see here ; 
there 's another from Mr. Carson, — that hateful Carson ! 
Now, you see, he has n't got my letter ; says he is coming. 
What impudence ! I 'm tired to death of that creature, and 
he '11 be here just as certain ! Disagreeable people always 
do keep their promises ! He '11 certainly be here I " 

“ Well, Miss Nina, you recollect you said you thought it 
would be good fun." 

“ 0, Harry, don't bring that up, I beg of you ! The fact 
is, Harry, I 've altered my mind about that. You know 
I 've put a stop to all those foolish things at once, and am 
done with them. You know I wrote to Carson and Em- 
mons, both, that my sentiments had changed, and all that 
sort of thing, that the girls always say. I 'm going to dis- 
miss all of 'em at once, and have no more fooling." 

“ What, all ? Mr. Clayton and all ? " 

“Well, I don’t know, exactly, — no. Do you know, 
Harry, I think his letters are rather improving ? — at least,' 
they are different letters from any I 've got before ; and. 


CONSULTATION. 


93 


though I don't think I shall break my heart after him, yet 
I like to get them. But the other two I 'm sick to death 
of; and, as for having that creature boring round here, I 
won't ! A. u * any rate, I don't want him and Clayton here 
together, i would n't have them together for the world ; 
and I wrote a letter to keep Carson off, this morning, and 
I 've been in trouble all day. Everybody has plagued me. 
Aunt Nesbit only gave me one of her mopy lectures about 
flirting, and would n't help me in the least. And, then, Old 
Hundred : I wanted him to get out the carriage and horses 
for me to go over and put this letter in the office, and I 
never saw such a creature in my life ! I can't make him do 
anything ! I should like to know what the use is of having 
servants, if you can't get anything done ! " 

“ 0, as to Old Hundred, I understand him, and he under- 
stands me," said Harry. “ I never find any trouble with 
him ; but he is a provoking old creature. He stands very 
much on the dignity of his office. But, if you want your 
letter carried to-night, I can contrive a safer way than that, 
if you '11 trust it to me." 

“ Ah ! well, do take it I" 

“Yes," said Harry, “I'll send a messenger across on 
horseback, and I have means to make him faithful." 

“ Well, Harry, Harry ! " said Nina, catching at his sleeve 
as he was going out, “come back again, won't you ? I want, 
to talk to you." 

During Harry’s absence, our heroine drew a letter from 
her bosom, and read it over. 

“ How well he writes ! " she said to herself. “ So dif- 
ferent from the rest of them ! I wish he 'd keep away from 
here, — that 's what I do ! It 's a pretty thing to get his 
letters, but I don't think I want to see Mm. 0, dear ! I wish 
I had somebody to talk to about it — Aunt Nesbit is so 
cross ! I can't — no, I won't care about him ! Harry is a 
kind soul." 

“ Ah, Harry, have you sent the letter ? " said she 
eagerly, as he entered 


94 


CONSULTATION. 


“ I have, Miss Nina ; but I can’t flatter you too much, 
i’m afraid it ’s too late for the mail — though there ’s never 
any saying when the mail goes out, within two or three 
hours.” 

“ Well, I hope it will stay for me, once. If that stupid 
creature comes, why, I don’t know what I shall do ! He ’s 
so presuming ! and he ’ll squeak about with those horrid 
shoes of his ; and then, I suppose, it will all come out, 
one way or another ; and I don’t know what Clayton will 
think.” 

** But I thought you didn’t care what he thought.” 

“ Well, you know, he ’s been writing to me all about his 
family. There ’s his father, is a very distinguished man, of 
a very old family ; and he ’s been writing to me about his 
sister, the most dreadfully sensible sister, he has got — 
good, lovely, accomplished, and pious ! 0, dear me ! I 

don’t know what in the world he ever thought of me for ! 
And, do you think, there ’s a postscript from his sister, 
written elegantly as can be ! ” 

“As to family, Miss Nina,” said Harry, “I think the 
Gordons can hold up their heads with anybody ; and, then, 
I rather think you’ll like Miss Clayton.” 

“ Ah ! but, then, Harry, this talking about fathers and 
sisters, it ’s bringing the thing awfully near 1 It looks so- 
much, you know, as if I really were caught. Do you know, 
Harry, I think I ’m just like my pony ? You know, she likes 
to have you come and offer her corn, and stroke her neck ; 
and she likes to make you believe sho ’s going to let you 
catch her ; but when it comes to putting a bridle on her, 
she ’s off in, a minute. Now, that ’s the way with me. It ’s 
rather exciting, you know, these beaux, and love-letters, 
and talking sentiment, going to the opera, and taking rides 
on horseback, and all that. But, when men get to talking 
about their fathers, and their sisters, and to act as if they 
were sure of me, I ’m just like Sylfine — I want to be off. 
You know, Harry, I think it ’s a very serious thing, this 
being married. It ’s dreadful ! I don’t want to be a woman 


CONSULTATION. 


95 


grown. I wish I could always be a girl, and live just as 
I have lived, and have plenty more girls come and see me, 
and have fun. I have n’t been a bit happy lately, not a 
bit ; and I never was unhappy before in my life.” 

“ Well, why don’t you write to Mr. Clayton, and break it 
all off, if you feel so about it ? ” 

“ Well, why don’t I ? I don’t know. I ’ve had a great 
mind to do it ; but I ’m afraid I should feel worse than I do 
now. He ’s coming just like a great dark shadow over my 
life, and everything is beginning to feel so real to me ! 1 

don’t want to take up life in earnest. I read a story, once, 
about Undine ; and, do you know, Harry, I think I feel just 
as Undine did, when she felt her soul coming in her ? ” 

“ And is Clacton Knight Heldebound ? ” said Harry, 
smiling. 

“ I don’t know. What if he should be ? Now, Harry, 
von see the fact is that sensible men get their heads turned 
by such kind of girls as I am ; and they pet us, and humor 
us. But, then, I’m afraid they’re thinking, all the while, 
that their turn to rule is coming, by and by. They marry us 
because they think they are going to make us over ; and 
what I ’m afraid of is, I never can be made over. Don’t 
think I was cut out right in the first place ; and there nevei 
will be much more of me than there is now. And he ’ll be 
comparing me with his pattern sister ; and I shan’t be any 
the more amiable for that. Now, his sister is what folks call 
highly-educated, you know, Harry. She understands all 
about literature, and everything. As for me, I ’ve just cultjr 
vation enough to appreciate a fine horse — that’s the extent. 
And yet I ’m proud. I wouldn’t wish to stand second, in 
his opinion, even to his sister. So, there it is. That’s the 
way with us girls ! We are always wanting what we know 
we ought not to have, and are not willing to take the trouble 
to get.” 

“ Miss Nina, if you ’ll let me speak my mind out frankly, 
now, I want to offer one piece of advice. Just be perfectly 
true and open with Mr. Clayton ; and, if he and Mr. Carson 


96 


CONSULTATION. 


should come together, just tell him frankly how the matter 
stands. You are a Gordon, and they say truth always runs 
in the Gordon blood ; and now, Miss Nina, you are no longer 
a school-girl', but a young lady at the head of the estate.” 

He stopped, and hesitated. 

“Well, Harry, you needn’t stop. I understand you — 
got a few grains of sense left, I hope, and haven’t got so 
many friends that I can afford to get angry with you for 
nothing.” 

“ I suppose,” said Harry, thoughtfully, “that your aunt 
will be well enough to be down to the table. Have you 
told her how matters stand ? ” 

“ Who ? Aunt Loo ? Catch me telling her anything ! No, 
Harry, I ’ve got to stand all alone. I have n’t any mother, 
and I have n’t any sister; and Aunt Loo is worse than no- 
body, because it ’s provoking to have somebody round that 
you feel might take an interest, and ought to, and don’t 
care a red cent for you. Well, I declare, if I ’m not much, 
— if I’m not such a model as Miss Clayton, there, — how 
could any one expect it, when I have just come up by my- 
self, first at the plantation, here, and then at that French 
boarding-school ? I tell you what, Harry, boarding-schools 
are not what they ’re cried up to be. It ’s good tun, no 
doubt, but we never learnt anything there. That is to say, 
we never learnt it internally, but had it just rubbed on to 
us outside. A girl can’t help, of course, learning some- 
thing ; and I ’ve learnt just what I happened to like and 
could n’t help, and a deal that is n’t of the most edifying 
nature besides.” 

Well ! we shall see what will come 1 


CHAPTER VIII. 


OLD TIFF. 

“ I say, Tiff, do you think he will come, to-night ?” 

“ Laws, laws, Missis, how can Tiff tell ? I ’s been a 
gazin’ out de do’. Don’t see nor hear nothin’. ” 

“ It ’s so lonesome I — so lonesome 1 — and the nights so 
long 1 ” 

And the speaker, an emaciated, feeble little woman, turned 
herself uneasily on the ragged pallet where she was lying, 
and, twirling her slender fingers? nervously, gazed up at the 
rough, unplastered beams above. 

The room was of the coarsest and rudest cast. The hut 
was framed of rough pine logs, filled between the crevices 
with mud and straw ; the floor made of rough-split planks, 
unevenly jointed together ; the window was formed by somes 
single panes arranged in a row where a gap had been made 
in one of the logs. At one end was a rude chimney of 
sticks, where smouldered a fire of pine-cones and brush 
wood, covered over with a light coat of white ashes. On the 
mantle over it was a shelf, which displayed sundry vials, a 
cracked teapot and tumbler, some medicinal-looking pack- 
ages, a turkey’s wing, much abridged and defaced by 
frequent usage, some bundles of dry herbs, and lastly a 
gayly-painted mug of coarse crockery-ware, containing a 
bunch of wild-flowers. On pegs, driven into the logs, were 
arranged different articles of female attire, and divers little 
coats and dresses, which belonged to smaller wearers, with 
now and then soiled ar.d coarse articles of man’s apparel. 

The woman, who lay upon a coarse chaff pallet in the cor- 

9 


98 


OLD TIFF. 


&er, was one who once might have been pretty. Her skin 
was fair, her hair soft and curling, her eyes of a beautiful 
blue, her hands thin and transparent as pearl. But the 
deep, dark circles under the eyes, the thin, white lips, the 
attenuated limbs, the hurried breathing, and the bUrniflg 
spots in the cheek, told that, whatever she might have been, 
she was now not long for this world. 

Beside her bed was sitting an old negro, in whose close- 
curling wool age had begun to sprinkle flecks of white. 
His countenance presented, physically, one of the most un- 
comely specimens of negro features ; and would have been 
positively frightful, had it not been redeemed by an expres- 
sion of cheerful kindliness which beamed from it. His face 
was of ebony blackness, with a wide, upturned nose, a 
mouth of portentous size, guarded by clumsy lips, reveal- 
ing teeth which a shark might have envied. The only fine 
feature was his large, black eyes, which, at the present, 
were concealed by a huge pair of plated spectacles, placed 
very low upon his nose, and through which he was direct- 
ing his sight upon a child's stocking, that he was 1 usi’ y 
darning. At his foot was a rude cradle, made of a gun - 
tree log, hollowed out into a trough, and wadded by various 
old fragments of flannel, in which slept a very young infant. 
Another child, of about three years of age, was sitting c*;t 
the negro's knee, busily playing with some pine-cones ;,nd 
mosses. 

The figure of the old negro was low and stopping ; and 
he wore, pinned round his shoulders, a half-handkerchief 01 
shawl of red flannel, arranged much as an old woman would 
have arranged it. One or two needles, with coarse, black 
thread dangling to them, were stuck in on his shoulder ; 
and, as he busily darned on the little stocking, he kept up 
a kind of droning intermixture of chanting and talking to 
the child on his knee. 

“So, ho, Teddy! — bub dar ! — my man ! — sit still! — 
'cause yer ma 's sick, and sister's gone for medicine. ] )a*\ 
Tiff 'll sing to his little man 


OLD TIFF. 


99 


‘ Christ was born in Bethlehem, 
Christ was born in Bethlehem, 
And in a manger laid.’ 


Take car, dar ! — dat ar needle scratch yer little fingers! 

poor little fingers! Ah, be still, now! — play wid yer 
pretty tings, and see what yer pa ’ll bring ye ! " 

“ 0, dear me ! — well ! '' said the woman on the bed, “ I 
shall give up ! '' 

(i Bress de- Lord, no, missis ! " said Tiff, laying down the 
stocking, and holding the child to him with one hand, while 
the other was busy in patting and arranging the bed- 
clothes. “ No use in givin' up ! Why, Lord bress you, 
missis, we ; 11 be all up right agin in a few days. Work 
has been kinder pressing lately, and chil’ns clothes an't 
quite so 'speckable ; but den I 's doin' heaps o' mendin'. 
See dat ar ! " said he, holding up a slip of red flannel, re- 
splendent with a black patch, “ dat ar hole won't go no 
furder — and it does well enough for Teddy to wear rollin' 
round de do', and such like times, to save his bettermost. 
And de way I 's put de yarn in dese yer stockings an't slow. 
Den I 's laid out to take a stitch in Teddy's shoes ; and dat 
ar hole in de kiverlet, dat ar '11 be stopped 'fore morning. 
0, let me alone ! — he ! he ! he ! — Ye did n't keep Tiff for 
nothing, missis — ho, ho, ho ! " And the black face seemed 
really to become unctuous with the oil of gladness, as Tiff 
proceeded in his work of consolation. 

“ 0, Tiff, Tiff ! you 're a good creature ! But you don't 
know. Here I 've been lying alone day after day, and he off 
nobody knows where ! And when he comes, it '11 be only a 
day, and he 's off ; and all he does don't amount to anything 
— all miserable rubbish brought home and traded off for other 
rubbish. 0, what a fool I was for being married ! 0, dear ! 
girls little know what marriage is ! I thought it was so 
dreadful to be an old maid, and a pretty thing to get mar- 
ried ! But, 0, the pain, and worry, and sickness, and suffer- 
ing, I 've gone through ! — always wandering from place to 
place, never settled ; one thing going after another, wor- 


1^0 


OLD TIFF 


rying, watching, weary, — and all for nothing, for I am 
worn out, and I shall die ! ” 

0, Lord, no ! ” said Tiff, earnestly. “ Lor, Tiff ’ll make 
ye some tea, and give it to ye, ye poor lamb ! It ’s drefful 
" Jiard, so ’t is ; but times ’ll mend, and massa ’ll come round 
and be more settled, like, and Teddy will grow up and help 
his ma ; and I ’m sure dere is n’t a pearter young uu dan 
dis yer puppet ! ” said he, turning fondly to the trough 
where the little fat, red mass of incipient humanity was 
beginning to throw up two small fists, and to utter sundry 
small squeaks, to intimate his desire to come into notice. 

“ Lor, now,” said he, adroitly depositing Teddy on the 
floor, and taking up the baby, whom he regarded fondly 
through his great spectacles ; “ stretch away, my pretty ! 
stretch away ! ho-e-ho ! Lor, if he has n’t got his mammy’s 
eye, for all dis worl ! Ah, brave ! See him, missis ! ” said 
he, laying the little bundle on the bed by her. “Did ye 
ever see a peartier young un ? He, he, he 1 Dar, now, his 
mammy should take him, so she should ! and Tiff ’ll make ' 
mammy some tea, so he will 1 ” And Tift', in a moment, 
was on his knees, carefully laying together the ends of the 
burned sticks, and, blowing a cloud of white ashes, which 
powdered his woolly head and red shawl like snow-flakes, 
while Teddy was busy in pulling the needles out of some 
knitting-work which hung in a bag by the fire. 

Tiff, having started the fire by blowing, proceeded very 
carefully to adjust upon it a small, black porringer of water, 
singing, as he did so, 

“ My way is dark and cloudy, 

So it is, so it is; ) 

My way is dark and cloudy, 

All de day.” 

Then, rising from his work, he saw that the poor, weak 
mother had clasped the baby to her bosom, and was sobbing 
very quietly. Tiff, as he stood there, with his shcfctf, square, 
ungainly figure, his long arms hanging out from his side 


OLD TIFF. 


101 


like bows, his back covered by the red shawl, looked much 
like a compassionate tortoise standing on its hind legs. He 
looked pitifully at the sight, took off his glasses and wiped 
his eyes, and lifted up his voice in another stave : 

O 

“ But we ’ll join de forty tousand, by and by, 

So we will, so we will. 

We’ll join de forty tousand, upon de golden shore, 

And our sorrows will be gone forevermore, more, more.” 

“ Bress my soul, Mas’r Teddy ! now us been haulin’ out 
de needles from Miss Fanny’s work ! dat ar an’t purty, now ! 
Tiff’ll be ’shamed of ye, and ye do like dat when ye r ma ’s 
sick ! Don’t ye know ye must be good, else Tiff won’t tell 
ye no stories ! Dar, now, sit down on dis yer log ; dat ar ’s 
just the nicest log ! plenty o’ moss on it yer can be a pickin’ 
out ! Now, yer sit still dar, and don’t be interruptin’ yer 
ma.” 

The urchin opened a wide, round pair of blue eyes upon 
Tiff, looking as if he were mesmerized, and sat, with a quiet, 
subdued air, upon his log, while Tiff went fumbling about in 
a box in the corner. After some rattling, he produced a 
pine-knot, as the daylight was fading fast in the room, and, 
driving it into a crack in another log which stood by the 
chimney corner, he proceeded busily to light it, muttering, 
as he did so, 

“ Want to make it more cheerful like.” 

Then he knelt down and blew the coals under the little 
porringer, which, like pine-coals in general, always sulked 
and looked black when somebody was not blowing them. 

He blew vigorously, regardless of the clouds of ashes which 
encircled him, and which settled even on the tips of his eye- 
lashes, and balanced themselves on the end of his nose. 

“ Bress de Lord, I ’s dreadful strong in my breff ! Lord, 
dey might have used me in blacksmissin ! I ’s kep dis yer 
chimney a gwine dis many a day. I wonder, now, what 
keeps Miss Fanny out so long.” 

And Tiff rose up with the greatest precaution, and, glans- 
9 * 


102 


OLD TIFF. 


ing every moment towards the bed, and almost tipping him- 
self over in his anxiety to walk softly, advanced to the 
rude door, which opened with a wooden latch and string, 

S opened it carefully, and looked out. Looking out with him, 
ke perceive that the little hut stands alone, in the heart of 
a dense pine forest, which shuts it in on every side. 

Tiff held the door open a few moments to listen. No 
sound was heard but the shivering wind, swaying and surg- 
ing in melancholy cadences through the long pine-leaves, — 
a lonesome, wailing, uncertain sound. 

“ Ah ! dese yer pine-trees ! dey always a talkin’ I ” said 
Tiff to himself, in a sort of soliloquy. “ Whisper, whisper, 
whisper I De Lord knows what it ’s all about ! dey never 
tells folks what dey wants to know. Hark ! da is Foxy, as 
sure as I ’m a livin sinner ! Ah ! dar she is 1 ” as a quick, 
loud bark reverberated. “ Ah, ha ! Foxy ! you ’ll bring her 
along ! ” caressing a wolfish-looking, lean cur, who came 
bounding through the trees. 

“ Ah, yer good-for-nothing ! what makes yer run so fast, 
and leave yer missus behind ye ? Hark ! what ’s dat ! ” 
The clear voice came carolling gayly from out the pine- 
trees, 

“ If you get there before I do — 

I’m bound for the land of Canaan.” 

Whereupon Tiff, kindling with enthusiasm, responded, 

“ Look out for me — I 'm coming too — 

I ’m bound for the land of Canaan.” 

The response was followed by a gay laugh, as a childish 
voice shouted, from the woods, 

“ Ha ! Tiff, you there ? ” 

And immediately a bold, bright, blue-eyed girl, of about 
eight years old, came rushing forward. 

“ Lors, Miss Fannie, so grad you ’s come ! Yer ma ’s 
powerful weak dis yer arternoon 1 ” And then, sinking his 
voice to a whisper, “ Why, now, yer ’d better b’leve hei 


OLD TIFF. 


103 


sperits is n’t the best 1 Why, she ’s that bad, Miss Fannie, 
she actually been a cryin’ when I put the baby in her arms. 
Railly, I ’m consarned, and I wish yer pa ’ud come home. 
Did yer bring de medicine ? ” 

“Ah, yes ; here ’tis.” 

“ Ah ! so good ! I was a makin’ of her some tea, to set 
her up, like, and I ’ll put a little drop of dis yer in ’t. You 
gwin, now, and speak to yer ma, and I ’ll pick up a little 
light wood round here, and make up de fire. Massa Ted- 
dy ’ll be powerful glad to see yer. Hope you ’s got him 
something, too 1 ” 

The girl glided softly into the room, and stood over the 
bed where her mother was lying. 

“ Mother, I ’ve come home,” said she, gently. 

The poor, frail creature in the bed seemed to be in one of 
those helpless hours of life’s voyage, when all its waves 
and billows are breaking over the soul ; and while the little 
new-comer was blindly rooting and striving at her breast, 
she had gathered the worn counterpane over her face, and 
the bed was shaken by her sobbings. 

“ Mother ! mother ! mother ! ” said the child, softly touch- 
ing her. 

“ Go away ! go away, child ! 0,1 wish I had never been 

born ! I wish you had never been born, nor Teddy, nor the 
baby I It ’s all nothing but trouble and sorrow ! Fanny, 
don’t you ever marry ! Mind what I tell you ! ” 

The child stood frightened by the bedside, while Tiff had 
softly deposited a handful of pine-wood near the fireplace, 
had taken off the porringer, and was busily stirring and 
concocting something in an old cracked china mug. As he 
stirred, a strain of indignation seemed to cross his generally 
tranquil mind, for he often gave short sniffs and grunts, in- 
dicative of extreme disgust, and muttered to himself, 

“ Dis yer comes of quality marrying these yer poor white 
folks ! Never had no ’pinion on it, no way ! Ah I do hear 
the poor lamb now ! ’nough to break one’s heart I ” 

By this time, the stirring and flavoring being finished to 


104 


OLD TIFF. 


his taste, he came to the side of the bed, and began, in a 
coaxing tone, 

“Come, now, Miss Si^Lcome ! You's all worn out! 
No wonder ! dat ar great fellow tugging at you ! Bless 
his dear little soul, he 's gaining half a pound a week ! 
Nough to pull down his ma entirely ! Come, now ; take a 
little sup of this — just a little sup! Warm you up, and 
put a bit of life in you ; and den I 'spects to fry you a mor- 
sel of der chicken, 'cause a boy like dis yer can't be nursed 
on slops, dat I knows ! Dere, dere, honey ! " said he, gently 
removing the babe, and passing his arm under the pillow. 
“ I 's drefful strong in the back. My arm is long and strong, 
and I '11 raise you up just as easy ! Take a good sup on it, 
now, and wash dese troubles down. I reckon the good man 
above is looking down on us all, and bring us all round 
right, some time." 

The invalid, who seemed exhausted by the burst of feel- 
ing to which she had been giving way, mechanically obeyed 
a voice to which she had always been accustomed, and 
drank eagerly, as if with feverish thirst ; and when she had 
done, she suddenly threw her arms around the neck of her 
strange attendant. 

“ 0, Tiff, Tiff ! poor old black, faithful Tiff 1 What should 
I have done without you ? So sick as I 've been, and so 
weak, and so lonesome ! But, Tiff, it 's coming to an end 
pretty soon. I 've seen, to-night, that I an't going to live 
long, and I 've been crying to think the children have got 
to live. If I could only take them all into my arms, and all 
lie down in the grave together, I should be so glad ! I 
never knew what God made me for ! I 've never been fit 
for anything, nor done anything ! 

Tiff seemed so utterly overcome by this appeal, his great 
spectacles were fairly washed down in a flood of tears, and 
his broad, awkward frame shook with sobs. 

“ Law bless you, Miss Sue, don't be talking dat ar way ! 
Why, if de Lord should call you, Miss Sue, I can take care 
of the children. I can bring them up powerful, I tell ye 1 


OLD TIFF. 


105 


But you won't be a-going ; you ’ll get better ! It ’s just the 
sperits is low ; and, laws, why should n’t dey be ? ” 

Just at this moment a loud barking was heard outside the 
house, together with the rattle of wheels and the tramp of 
horses’ feet. 

“ Dar ’s massa, sure as I ’in alive ! ” said he, hastily lay- 
ing down the invalid, and arranging her pillows. 

A rough voice called, “ Hallo, Tiff! here with a light ! ” 

Tiff caught the pine-knot, and ran to open the door. A 
strange-looking vehicle, of a most unexampled composite 
order, was standing before the door, drawn by a lean, one- 
eyed horse. 

“ Here, Tiff, help me out. I ’ve got a lot of goods here. 
How ’s Sue ? ” 

“ Missis is powerful bad ; been wanting to see you dis 
long time.” 

“Well, away, Tiff! take this out,” indicating a long, 
rusty piece of stove-pipe. 

“ Lay this in the house ; and here ! ” handing a cast-iron 
stove-door, with the latch broken. 

“ Law, Massa, what on earth is the use of dis yer ? ” 

“ Don’t ask questions, Tiff ; work away. Help me out 
with these boxes.” 

“ What on arth now ? ” said Tiff to himself, as one rough 
case after another was disgorged from the vehicle, and 
landed in the small cabin. This being done, and orders 
being given to Tiff to look after the horse and equipage, 
the man walked into the house, with a jolly, slashing air. 

“ Hallo, bub ! ” said he, lifting the two-year-old above 
his head. “ Hallo, Fan ! ” imprinting a kiss on the cheek 
of his girl. “Hallo, Sis ! ” coming up to the bed where 
the invalid lay, and stooping down over her. Her weak, 
wasted arms were thrown around his neck, and she said, 
with sudden animation, 

“ 0, you ’ve come at last ! I thought I should die with- 
out seeing you ! ” v 

“0, you an’t a-going to die, Sis ! Why, what talk ! ” 


106 


OLD TIFF. 


said he, chucking her under the chin. 11 Why, your cheeks 
are as red as roses ! '' 

“Pa, see the baby ! '' *said little Teddy, who, having 
climbed over the bed, opened the flannel bundle. 

“ Ah ! Sis, I cail that ar a tolerable fair stroke of busi- 
ness ! Well, I tell you what, I 've done up a trade now 
that will set us up, and no mistake. Besides which, I 've 
got something now in my coat-pocket that would raise a 
dead cat to life, if she was lying at the bottom of a pond, 
with a stone round her neck ! See here ! ‘ Dr. Puffer's 

Elixir of the Water of Life ! ' warranted to cure janders, 
tooth-ache, ear-ache, scrofula, speptia, 'sumption, and every- 
thing else that ever I hearn of ! A teaspoonful of that ar, 
morn and night, and in a week you 'll be round agin, as pert 
as a cricket 1 " 

It was astonishing to see the change which the entrance 
of this man had wrought on the invalid. All her apprehen- 
sions seemed to have vanished. She sat up on the bed, fol- 
lowing his every movement with her eyes, and apparently 
placing full confidence in the new medicine, as if it were the 
first time that ever a universal remedy had been proposed 
to her. It must be noticed, however, that Tiff, who had 
returned, and was building the fire, indulged himself, now 
and then, when the back of the speaker was turned, by 
snuffing at him in a particularly contemptuous manner. The 
man was a thick-set and not ill-looking personage, who 
might have been forty or forty-five years of age. His eyes, 
of a clear, lively brown, h-is close-curling hair, his high fore- 
head, and a certain devil-may-care frankness of expression, 
were traits not disagreeable, and which went some way to 
account for the partial eagerness with which the eye of the 
wife followed him. 

The history of the pair is briefly told. He was the son 
of a small farmer of North Carolina. His father having been 
so unfortunate as to obtain possession of a few negroes, the 
whole family became ever after inspired with an intense dis- 
gust for all kinds of labor ; and John, the oldest son, adopted 


OLD TIFF.. 


107 


for himself the ancient and honorable profession of a loafer. 
To lie idle in the sun in front of some small grog-shop, to 
attend horse-races, cock-fights, and gander-pullings, to flout 
out occasionally in a new waistcoat, bought with money 
which came nobody knew how, were pleasures to him all- 
satisfactory. He was as guiltless of all knowledge of com- 
mon-school learning as Governor Berkley could desire, and 
far more clear of religious training than a Mahometan or a 
Hindoo. 

In one of his rambling excursions through the country, 
he stopped a night at a worn-out and broken-down old plan- 
tation, where everything had run down, through many years 
of mismanagement and waste. There he staid certain days, 
playing cards with the equally hopeful son of the place, and 
ended his performances by running away one night with the 
soft-hearted daughter, only fifteen years of age, and who 
was full as idle, careless, and untaught, as he. 

The family, whom poverty could not teach to forget their 
pride, were greatly scandalized at the marriage ; and, had 
there been anything left in the worn-out estate wherewith 
to portion her, the bride, nevertheless, would have been 
portionless. The sole piece of property that went out with 
her from the paternal mansion was one, who, having a mind 
and will of his own, could not be kept from following her. 
The girl’s mother had come from a distant branch of one of 
the most celebrated families in Virginia, and Tiff had been 
her servant; and, with a heart forever swelling with the re- 
membrances of the ancestral greatness of the Peytons, he fol- 
lowed his young mistress in her mesalliance with long-suf- 
fering devotion. He even bowed his neck so far as to 
acknowledge for his master a man whom he considered by 
position infinitely his inferior ; for Tiff, though crooked and 
black, never seemed to cherish the slightest doubt that 
the whole force of the Peyton blood coursed through his 
veins, and that the Peyton honor was intrusted to his keep- 
ing. His mistress was a Peyton, her children were Peyton 
children, and even the little bundle of flannel in the gum- 


108 


OLD TIFF. 


tree cradle was a Peyton ; and as for him, he was Tiff Pcy> 
ton, and this thought warmed and consoled him as he fol- 
lowed his poor mistress during all the steps of her down 
ward course in the world. On her husband he looked with 
patronizing, civil contempt. He wished him well ; he 
thought it proper to put the best face on all his actions ; 
but, in a confidential hour, Tiff would sometimes raise his 
spectacles emphatically, and give it out, as his own private 
opinion, “that dere could not be much ’spected from dat ar 
Ascription of people ! ” 

In fact, the roving and unsettled nature of John Cripps’s 
avocations and locations might have justified the old fellow’s 
contempt. His industrial career might be defined as com- 
prising a little of everything, and a great deal of nothing. 
He had begun, successively, to learn two or three trades ; 
had half made a horse-shoe, and spoiled one or two carpen- 
ter’s planes ; had tried his hand at stage-driving ; had raised 
fighting-cocks, and kept dogs for hunting negroes. But he 
invariably retreated from every one of his avocations, in his 
own opinion a much-abused man. The last device that had 
entered his head was suggested by the success of a shrewd 
Yankee pedler, who, having a lot of damaged and unsalable 
material to dispose of, talked him into the belief that he 
possessed yet an undeveloped talent for trade ; and poor 
John Cripps, guiltless of multiplication or addition (able, 
and who kept his cock-fighting accounts on his fingers and 
by making chalk-marks behind the doors, actually was made 
to believe that he had at last received his true vocation. 

In fact, there was something in the constant restlessness 
of this mode of life that suited his roving turn ; and, though 
he was constantly buying what he could not sell, and losing 
on all that he did sell, yet somehow he kept up an illu- 
sion that he was doing something, because stray coins now 
and then passed through his pockets, and because the circle 
of small taverns in which he could drink and loaf was con • 
siderably larger. There was one resource which never failed 


OLD TIFF. 


109 


him when all other streams went dry ; and that was the 
unceasing ingenuity and fidelity of the bondman Tiff. 

Tiff, in fact, appeared to be one of those comfortable old 
creatures, who retain such a good understanding with all 
created nature that food never is denied them. Fish would 
always bite on Tiff’s hook when they wouldn’t on any- 
body’s else ; so that he was wont confidently to call the 
nearest stream “ Tiff’s pork-barrel.” Hens always laid 
eggs for Tiff, and cackled to him confidentially where they 
were deposited. Turkeys gobbled and strutted for him, and 
led forth for him broods of downy little ones. All sorts of 
wild game, squirrels, rabbits, coons, and possums, appeared 
to come with pleasure and put themselves into his traps and 
springes ; so that, where another man might starve, Tiff 
would look round him with unctuous satisfaction, con- 
templating all nature as his larder, where his provisions were 
wearing fur coats, and walking about on four legs, only for 
safe keeping till he got ready to eat them. So that Cripps 
never came home without anticipation of something savory, 
even although he had drank up his last quarter of a dollar at 
the tavern. This suited Cripps. He thgught Tiff was doing 
his duty, and occasionally brought him home some unsala- 
ble bit of rubbish, by way of testimonial of the sense he 
entertained of his “worth. The spectacles in which Tiff 
gloried came to him in this manner ; and, although it might 
have been made to appear that the glasses were only plain 
window-glass, Tiff was happily ignorant that they were not 
the best of convex lenses, and still happier in the fact that 
his strong, unimpaired eyesight made any glasses at all en- 
tirely unnecessary. It was only an aristocratic weakness in 
Tiff. Spectacles he somehow considered the mark of a 
gentleman, and an appropriate symbol for one who had 
** been fetched up in the very fustest families of Old Vir- 
ginny.” 

He deemed them more particularly appropriate, as, in ad- 
dition to his manifold outward duties, he likewise assumed, 
as the reader has seen, some feminine accomplishments 

10 


110 


OLD TIFF. 


Tiff could darn a stocking with anybody in the country ; he 
could cut out children’s dresses and aprons ; he could patch, 
and he could seam ; all which he did with infinite self-satis* 
faction. 

Notwithstanding the many crooks and crosses in his lot, 
Tiff was, on the whole, a cheery fellow. He had an oily, 
rollicking fulness of nature, an exuberance of physical 
satisfaction in existence, that the greatest weight of adver- 
sity could only tone down to becoming sobriety. He was 
on the happiest terms of fellowship with himself ; he liked 
himself, he believed in himself ; and, when nobody else 
would do it, he would pat himself on his own shoulder, and 
say, “ Tiff, you ’re a jolly dog, a fine fellow, and I like you ! ” 
He was seldom without a running strain of soliloquy with 
himself, intermingled with joyous bursts of song, and quiet 
intervals of laughter. On pleasant days Tiff laughed a great 
deal. He laughed when his beans came up, he laughed when 
the sun came out after a storm, he laughed for fifty things 
that you never think of laughing at ; and it agreed with him 
— he throve upon it. In times of trouble and perplexity, 
Tiff talked to himself, and found a counsellor who always 
kept secrets. On the present occasion it was not without 
some inward discontent that he took a survey of the re- 
mains of one of his best-fatted chickens; which he had been 
intending to serve up, piecemeal, for his mistress. So he 
relieved his mind by a little confidential colloquy with him- 
self. 

“ His yer,” he said to himself, with a contemptuous in- 
clination towards the newly-arrived, “will be for eating like 
a judgment, I ’pose. Wish, now, I had killed de old gob- 
bler I Good enough for him — raal tough, he is. Dis yer, 
now, was my primest chicken, and dar she ’ll jist sit and see 
him eat it 1 Laws, dese yer women ! Why, dey does get 
so sot on husbands! Pity they couldn’t have something 
like to be sot on ! It jist riles me to see him gobbling 
down everything, and she a-looking on ! Well, here goes,” 
said he, depositing the frying-pan over the coals, in which 


OLD TIFF. 


Ill 


the chicken was soon fizzling. Drawing out the table, Tiff 
prepared it for supper. Soon coffee was steaming over the 
fire, and corn-dodgers baking in the ashes. Meanwhile, 
J ohn Cripps was busy explaining to his wife the celebrated 
wares that had so much raised his spirits. 

“ Well, now, you see, Sue, this yer time I’ve been up to 
Kaleigh ; and I met a fellow there, coming from New York, 
or New Orleans, or some of them northern states. 

“ New Orleans is n’t a northern state,” humbly interposed 
his wife, “ is it ? ” 

“Well, New something! Who the devil cares? Don’t 
you be interrupting me, you Suse f” 

Could Cripps have seen the vengeful look which Tiff 
gave him over the spectacles at this moment, he might 
have trembled for his supper. But, innocent of this, he 
proceeded with his story. 

‘ ' You see, this yer fellow had a case of bonnets just the 
height of the fashion. They come from Paris, the capital 
of Europe ; and he sold them to me for a mere song. Ah, 
you ought to see ’em ! I ’m going to get ’em out. Tiff, 
hold the candle, here.” And Tiff held the burning torch 
with an air of grim scepticism and disgust, while Cripps 
hammered and wrenched the top boards off, and displayed 
to view a portentous array of bonnets, apparently of every 
obsolete style and fashion of the last fifty years. 

“ Dem ’s fust rate for scare-crows, anyhow ! ” muttered 
Tiff. 

“ Now, what,” said Cripps, — “ Sue, what do vou think I 
gave for these ? ” * 

“ I don’t know,” said she, faintly. 

“ Well, I gave fifteen dollars for the whole box ! And 
there an’t one of these,” said he, displaying the most singu- 
lar specimen on his hand, “ that is n’t worth from two to five 
dollars, I shall clear, at least, fifty dollars on that box.” 

Tiff, at this moment, turned to his frying-pan, and bent 
over it, soliloquizing as he did so. 

“Any way, I ’s found out one ting — where de women 


112 


OLD TIFF. 


gets dem roosts of bonnets dey wars at camp-meetings. 
Laws, dey 's enough to spile a work of grace, dem ar ! If I 
was to meet one of dem ar of a dark night in a grave-yard, 
I should tink I was sent for — not the pleasantest way of 
sending, neither. Poor missis ! — looking mighty faint ! — 
Don't wonder 1 — 'Nough to scarr a weakly woman into 
fits ! ” 

“ Here, Tiff, help me to open this box. Hold the light, 
here. Durned if it don't come off hard ! Here 's a lot of 
shoes and boots I got of the same man. Some on 'em 's 
mates, and some an't ; but, then, I took the lot cheap. 
Folks don't always warr both shoes alike. Might like to 
warr an odd one, sometimes, ef it's cheap. Now, this yer 
parr of boots is lady's gaiters, all complete, 'cept there 's a 
hole in the lining down by the toe ; body ought to be care- 
ful about putting it on, else the foot will slip between the 
outside and the lining. Anybody that bears that in mind 
— just as nice a pair of gaiters as they 'd want ! Bargain, 
there, for somebody — complete one, too. Then I 've got 
two or three old bureau-drawers that I got cheap at auc- 
tion ; and I reckon some on ’em will fit the old frame that 
I got last year. Got 'em for a mere song." 

“ Bless you, massa, dat ar old bureau I took for de chick- 
en-coop ! Turkeys' chickens hops in lively." 

“ 0, well, scrub it up — 'twill answer just as well. Fit 
the drawers in. And now, old woman, we will sit down 
to supper," said he, planting himself at the table, and be- 
ginning a vigorous onslaught on the fried chicken, without 
invitation to any other person present to assist him. 

“Missis can't sit up at the table," said Tiff. “She's 
done been sick ever since de baby was born." And Tiff 
approached the bed with a nice morsel of chicken which he 
had providently preserved on a plate, and which he now 
reverently presented on a board, as a waiter, covered with 
newspaper. 

“ Now, do eat, missis ; you can't live on looking, no 


OLD TIFF. 


113 


ways you can fix it. Do eat, while Tiff gets on de baby’s 
night-gown.” 

To please her old friend, the woman made a feint of eat- 
ing, but, while Tiff’s back was turned to the fire, busied 
herself with distributing it to the children, who had stood 
hungrily regarding her, as children will regard what is put 
on to a sick mother’s plate. 

“ It does me good to see them eat,” she said, apologeti- 
cally once, when Tiff, turning round, detected her in the 
act. 

“ Ah, missis, may be ! but you ’ve got to eat for two, now. 
What dey eat an’t going to dis yer little man, here. Mind 
dat ar.” 

Cripps apparently bestowed very small attention on any- 
thing except the important business before him, which he 
prosecuted with such devotion that very soon coffee, 
chicken, and dodgers, had all disappeared. Even the bones 
were sucked dry, and the gravy wiped from the dish. 

“ Ah, that ’s what I call comfortable I ” said he, lying 
back in his chair. “Tiff, pull my boots off! and hand out 
that ar demijohn. Sue, I hope you ’ve made a comfortable 
meal,” he said, incidentally, standing with his back to her, 
compounding his potation of whiskey and water; which 
having drank, he called up Teddy, and offered him the sugar 
at the bottom of the glass. But Teddy, being forewarned 
by a meaning glance through Tiff’s spectacles, responded, 
very politely, 

“ No, I thank you, pa. I don’t love it.” 

“ Come here, then, and take it off like a man. It ’s good 
for you,” said John Cripps. 

The mother’s eyes followed the child wishfully ; and she 
said, faintly, “Don’t, John! — don’t!” And Tiff ended 
the controversy by taking the glass unceremoniously out 
of his master’s hand. 

“ Laws bless you, massa, can’t be bodered with dese 
yer young ones dis yer time of night ! Time dey ’s all in 
bed, and dishes washed up. Here. Tedd,” seizing the 
10 * 


114 


OLD TIFF. 


child, and loosening the butt uvs of his slip behind, and 
drawing out a rough trundle-bed, “ you crawl in dere, and 
curl up in your nest; and don’t you forget your prars, 
honey, else maybe you ’ll never wake up again.” 

Cripps had now filled a pipe with tobacco of the most vil- 
lainous character, with which incense he was perfuming the 
little apartment. 

“Laws, massa, dat ar smoke an’t good for missis,” said 
Tiff. “ She done been sick to her stomach all day.” 

“ 0, let him smoke ! I like to have him enjoy himself,” 
said the indulgent wife. “ But, Fanny, you had better go 
to bed, dear. Come here and kiss me, child ; good-night, 
— good-night ! ” 

The mother held on to her long, and looked at her wish- 
fully ; and when she had turned to go, she drew her back, 
and kissed her again, and said, “ Good-night, dear child, 
good-night 1 ” 

Fanny climbed up a ladder in one corner of the room, 
through a square hole, to the loft above. 

“ I say,” said Cripps, taking his pipe out of his mouth, 
and looking at Tiff, who was busy washing the dishes, “ I 
say it ’s kind of peculiar that gal keeps sick so. Seemed 
to have good constitution when I married her. I ’m think- 
ing,” said he, without noticing the gathering wrath in 
Tiff’s face, “I ’m a thinking whether steamin’ wouldn’t do 
her good. Now, I got a most dreadful cold when I was up 
at Raleigh — thought I should have given up; and there 
was a steam-doctor there. Had a little kind of machine, 
with kettle and pipes, and he put me in a bed, put in the 
pipes, and set it a-going. I thought, my soul, I should have 
been floated off; but it carried off the cold, complete. I ’m 
thinking if something of that kind would n’t be good for 
Miss Cripps.” 

“ Laws, massa, don’t go for to trying it on her ! She is 
never no better for dese yer things you do for her.” 

“ Now,” said Cripps, not appearing to notice the inter 


OLD TIFF. 


115 


ruption, “ these yer stove-pipes, and the tea-kettle, — I 
should n't wonder if we could get up a steam with them ! " 

“ It 's my private 'pinion, if you do, she 'll be sailing out 
of the world," said Tiff. “ What 's one man's meat is 
another one's pisin, my old mis's used to say. Very best 
thing you can do for her is to let her alone. Dat ar is my 
'pinion." 

“ John," said the little woman, after a few minutes, “ 1 
wish you 'd come here, and sit on the bed." 

There was something positive, and almost authoritative, in 
the manner in which this was said, which struck John as .so 
unusual, that he came with a bewildered air, sat down, and 
gazed at her with his mouth wide open. 

“I'm so glad you 've come home, because I have had 
things that I 've wanted to say to you ! I 've been lying 
here thinking about it, and I have been turning it over in 
my mind. I 'm going to die soon, I know." 

“ Ah ! bah ! Don't be bothering a fellow with any of 
your hysterics ! " 

“John, John! it isn't hysterics! Look at me! Look 
at my hand ! look at my face ! I’m so weak, and some- 
times I have such coughing spells, and every time it seems 
to me as if I should die. But it an't to trouble you that I 
talk. I don't care about myself, but I don't want the chil- 
dren to grow up and be like what we 've been. You have a 
great many contrivances ; do, pray, contrive to have them 
taught to read, and make something of them in the world." 

“ Bah ! what 's the use ? I never learnt to read, and 
I ’m as good a fellow as I want. Why, there 's plenty of 
men round here making their money, every year, that can't 
read or write a word. Old Hubell, there, up on the Shad 
plantation, has hauled in money, hand over hand, and he 
always signs his mark. Got nine sons — can't a soul of 
them read or write, more than I. I tell you there 's nothing 
ever comes of this yer laming. It 's all a sell — a regular 
Yankee hoax ! I 've always got cheated by them damn 
reading, writing Yankees, whenever I 've traded with 'em. 


116 


OLD TIFF. 


What ’s the good, I want to know ! You was teached how 
to read when you was young — much good it ’s ever done 
you \ ” 

“ Sure enough ! Sick day and night, moving about 
from place to place, sick baby crying, and not knowing 
what to do for it no more than a child ! 0, I hope Fanny 

will learn something ! It seems to me, if there was some 
school for my children to go to, or some church, or some- 
thing — now, if there is any such place as heaven, I should 
like to have them get to it.” 

“ Ah ! bah ! Don’t bother about that I When we get 
keeled up, that will be the last of us ! Come, come, don’t 
plague a fellow any more with such talk ! I ’m tired, and 
I ’m going to sleep.” And the man, divesting himself of 
his overcoat, threw himself on the bed, and was soon snor- 
ing heavily in profound slumber. 

Tiff, who had been trotting the baby by the fire, now 
came softly to the bedside, and sat down, 

“ Miss Sue,” he said, “ it ’s no ’count talking to him ! I 
don’t mean nothing dis’pectful, Miss Sue, but de fac is, 
dem dat is n’t horn gentlemen can’t be ’spected fur to see 
through dese yer things like us of de old families. Law, 
missis, don’t you worry ! Now, jest leave dis yer matter to 
old Tiff! Dere never was n’t anything Tiff could n’t do, if 
he tried. He ! he ! he ! Miss Fanny, she done got de let- 
ters right smart ; and I know I ’ll come it round mas’r, and 
make him buy de books for her. I ’ll tell you what ’s come 
into my head, to-day. There ’s a young lady come to de 
big plantation, up dere, who’s been to New York getting 
edicated, and I ’s going for to ask her about dese yer 
things. And, about de chil’en’s going to church, and dese 
yer things, why, preaching, you know, is mazin’ unsartain 
round here ; but I ’ll keep on de look-out, and do de best 
I can. Why, Lord, Miss Sue, I ’s bound for the land of 
Canaan, myself, the best way I ken ; and I ’m sartain I 
shan’t go without taking the chil’en along with me. Ho ! 
ho ! ho ! Dat ’s what I shan’t ! De chil’en will have to be 


OLD TIFF. 


117 


with Tiff, and Tiff will have to be with the chil’en, where- 
ever dey is ! Dat ’s it I He ! he ! he ! ” 

“ Tiff,” said the young woman, her large blue eyes look- 
ing at him, “ I have heard of the Bible.. Have you ever 
seen one, Tiff? ” 

“ 0, yes, honey, dar was a big Bible that your ma brought 
in the family when she married ; but dat ar was tore up to 
make wadding for de guns, one thing or anothei, and dey 
never got no more. But I ’s been very ’serving, and kept 
my ears open in a camp-meeting, and such places, and I ’s 
learnt right smart of de things that ’s in it.’ r 

“ Now, Tiff, can you say anything ? ” said she, fixing her 
large, troubled eyes on him. 

“ Well, honey, dere ’s one thing the man said at de last 
camp-meeting. He preached ’bout it, and I could n’t make 
out a word he said, ’cause I an’t smart about preaching like 
I be about most things. But he said dis yer so often that 
f I could n’t help ’member it. Says he, it was dish yer way : 
' Come unto me, all ye labor and are heavy laden, and I will 
give you rest.’ ” 

“ Rest, rest, rest ! ” said the woman, thoughtfully, and 
drawing a long sigh. “ 0, how much I want it ! Did he 
say that was in the Bible ? ” 

“Yes, he said so; and I spects, by all he said, it’s de 
good man above dat says it. It always makes me feel bet- 
ter to think on it. It ’peared like it was jist what I was 
wanting to hear.” 

“ And I, too ! ” she said, turning her head wearily, and 
closing her eyes. “ Tiff,” she said, opening them, “ where 
I ’m going, may be I shall meet the one who said that, and 
I ’ll ask him about it. Don’t talk to me more, now. I ’m 
getting sleepy. I thought I was better a little while after 
he came home, but I ’m more tired yet. Put the baby in 
my arms — I like the feeling of it. There, there ; now give 
me rest — please do I ” and she sank into a deep and quiet 
slumber. 

Tiff softly covered the fire, and sat down by the bed, 


118 


OLD TIFF. 

watching the flickering shadows as they danced upward on 
the wall, listening to the heavy sighs of the pine-trees, and 
the hard breathing of the sleeping man. Sometimes he 
nodded sleepily, and then, recovering, rose, and took a turn 
to awaken himself. A shadowy sense of fear fell upon him ; 
not that he apprehended anything, for he regarded the 
words of his mistress only as the forebodings of a wearied 
invalid. The idea that she could actually die, and go any- 
where, without him to take care of her, seemed never to 
have occurred to him. About midnight, as if a spirit had 
laid its hand upon him, his eyes flew wide open with a sud- 
den start. Her thin, cold hand was lying on his ; her eyes, 
large and blue, shone with a singular and spiritual radiance. 

“Tiff,” she gasped, speaking with difficulty, “I Ve seen 
the one that said that , and it ’& all true, too ! and I Ve seen 
all why I've suffered so much. He — He — He is going 
to take me I Tell the children about Him ! ” There was a 
fluttering sigh, a slight shiver, and the lids fell over the 
eyes forever. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE DEATH. 

Death is always sudden. However gradual may be its 
approaches, it is, in its effects upon the survivor, always 
sudden at last. Tiff thought, at first, that his mistress was 
in a fainting-fit, and tried every means to restore her. It 
was affecting to see him chafing the thin, white, pearly 
hands, in his large, rough, black paws ; raising the head 
upon his arm, and calling in a thousand tones of fond en- 
dearment, pouring out a perfect torrent of loving devotion 
on the cold, unheeding ear. But, then, spite of all he 
could do, the face settled itself, and the hands would not be 
warmed ; the thought of death struck him suddenly, and, 
throwing himself on the floor by the bed, he wept with an 
exceeding loud and bitter cry. Something in his heart 
revolted against awakening that man who lay heavily 
breathing by her side. He would not admit to himself, at 
this moment, that this man had any right in her, or that the 
sorrow was any part of his sorrow. But the cry awoke 
Cripps, who sat up bewildered in bed, clearing the hair from 
his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“ Tiff, what the durned are you howling about ? '' 

Tiff got up in a moment, and, swallowing down his grief 
and his tears, pointed indignantly to the still figure on the 
bed. 

“ Dar ! dar ! Would n't b'lieve her last night ! Now 
what you think of dat ar ? See how you look now ! Good 
Shepherd hearn you abusing de poor lamb, and he 's done 
took her whar you 'll never see her again I " 


120 


THE DEATH. 


Cripps had, like coarse, animal men generally, a stupid 
and senseless horror of death ; — he recoiled from the life- 
less form, and sprang from the bed with an expression of 
horror. 

“ Well, now, who would have thought it ? ” he said, 
“ That I should be in bed with a corpse ! I had n’t the least 
idea ! ” 

“No, dat ’ s plain enough, you did n’t ! You ’ll believe 
it now, won’t you ? Poor little lamb, lying here suffering 
all alone 1 I tell you, when folks have been sick so long, 
dey has to die to make folks believe anything ails ’em ! ” 

“Well, really,” said Cripps, “this is really — why, it 
an’t comfortable ! darned if it is ! Why, I ’m sorry about 
the gal ! I meant to steam her up, or done something with 
her. What ’s we to do now ? ” 

“ Pretty likely you don’t know ! Folks like you, dat 
never tends to nothing good, is always flustered when de 
Master knocks at de do’ ! I knows what to do, though. 
I ’s boun’ to get up de crittur, and go up to de old planta- 
tion, and bring down a woman and do something for her, 
kind of decent. You mind the chil’en till I come back.” 

Tiff took down and drew on over his outer garment a 
coarse, light, woollen coat, with very long skirts and large 
buttons, in which he always arrayed himself in cases of 
special solemnity. Stopping at the door before he went 
out, he looked over Cripps from head to foot, with an air of 
patronizing and half-pitiful contempt, and delivered himself 
as follows : 

“Now, mas’r, I ’s gwine up, and will be back quick as 
possible ; and now do pray be decent, and let dat ar whis- 
key alone for one day in your life, and ’member death, judg- 
ment, and ’ternity. Just act, now, as if you ’d got a streak 
of something in you, such as a man ought for to have who 
is married to one of de very fustest families in old Virgin- 
ny. ’Fleet, now, on your latter end ; may be will do your 
poor old soul some good ; and don’t you go for to waking up 


THE DEATH. 


121 


tlie chil'en before I gets back. They 'll learn de trouble 
soon enough." 

Cripps listened to this oration with a stupid, bewildered 
stare, gazing first at the bed, and then at the old man, who 
was soon making all the speed he could towards Canema. 

Nina was not habitually an early riser, but on this morn- 
ing she had awaked with the first peep of dawn, and, finding 
herself unable to go to sleep again, she had dressed herself, 
and gone down to the garden. 

She was walking up and down in one of the alleys, think- 
ing over the perplexities of her own affairs, when her ear 
was caught by the wild and singular notes of one of those 
tunes commonly used among the slaves as dirges. The 
words “ She ar dead and gone to heaven " seemed to come 
floating down upon her ; and, though the voice was cracked 
and strained, there was a sort of wildness and pathos in it, 
which made a singular impression in the perfect stillness of 
everything around her. She soon observed a singular-look- 
ing vehicle appearing in the avenue. 

This wagon, which was no other than the establishment 
of Cripps, drew Nina's attention, and she went to the hedge 
to look at it. Tiff's watchful eye immediately fell upon her, 
and, driving up to where she was standing, he climbed out 
upon the ground, and, lifting his hat, made her a profound 
obeisance, and “ hoped de young lady was bery well, dis 
morning." 

“ Yes, quite well, thank you, Uncle," said Nina, regard- 
ing him curiously. 

“ We 's in 'fliction to our house I " said Tiff, solemnly. 
“ Dere 's been a midnight cry dere, and poor Miss Sue 
(dat 's my young missis), she 's done gone home." 

“ Who is your mistress ? " 

“ Well, her name was Seymour 'fore she married, and her 
ma come from de Virginny Peytons, — great family, dem 
Peytons ! She was so misfortunate as to get married, as 
gals will, sometimes," said Tiff, speaking in a confidential 
tone. “ The man wan't no 'count, and she 's had a drefful 
11 


122 


THE DEATH. 


hard way to travel, poor thing ! and dere she ’ a a lying at 
last stretched out dead, and not a woman nor nobody to do 
de least thing ; and please, missis, Tiff corned for to see if 
de young lady would n’t send a woman for to do for her — 
getting her ready for a funeral.” 

“ And who are you, pray ? ” 

“ Please, missis, I ’s Tiff Peyton, I is. I ’s raised in Vir- 
ginny, on de great Peyton place, and I ’s gin to Miss Sue’s 
mother ; and when Miss Sue married dis yer man, dey was 
all ’fended, and would n’ t speak to her ; but I tuck up for 
her, ’cause what ’s de use of makin’ a bad thing worse ? 
I ’s a ’pinion, and telled ’em, dat he oughter be ’couraged 
to behave hisself, seein’ the thing was done, and could n’t 
be helped. But no, dey would n’t ; so I jest tells ’em, says 
I, ‘You may dojis you please, but old Tiff’s a gwine with 
her,’ says I. ‘ I ’ll follow Miss Sue to de grave’s mouth,’ 
says I ; and ye see I has done it.” 

“ Well done of you ! I like you better for it,” said Nina. 
“You just drive up to the kitchen, there, and tell Rose to 
give you some breakfast, while I go up to Aunt Nesbit.” 

“ No, thank you, Miss Nina, I ’s noways hungry. ’Pears 
^ like, when a body ’s like as I be, swallerin’ down, and all de 
old times risin’ in der throat all de time, dey can’t eat ; dey 
gets filled all up to der eyes with feelin’s. Lord, Miss Nina, 
I hope ye won’t never know what ’t is to stand outside de 
gate, when de best friend you ’ve got ’s gone in ; it ’s hard, 
dat ar is ! ” And Tiff pulled out a decayed-looking handker- 
chief, and applied it under his spectacles. 

“ Well, wait a minute, Tiff.” And Nina ran into the house, 
while Tiff gazed mournfully after her. 

“Well, Lor; just de way Miss Sue used to run — trip, 
trip, trip ! — little feet like mice ! Lord’s will be done ! ” 

“ 0, Milly ! ” said Nina, meeting Milly in the entry, 
“ here you are. Here ’s a poor fellow waiting out by the 
hedge, his mistress dead all alone in the house, with children 
— no woman to do for them. Can’t you go down ? you 


THE DEATH. 


123 


could do so well ! You know how better than any one else 
in the house.” 

“ Why, that must be poor old Tiff! ” said Milly ; “ faith- 
ful old creature ! So that poor woman ’s gone, at last ? the 
better for her, poor soul ! Well, I ’ll ask Miss Loo if I may 
go — or you ask her, Miss Nina.” 

A quick, imperative tap on her door startled Aunt Nes- 
bit, who was standing at her toilet, finishing her morning’s 
dressing operations. 

Mrs. Nesbit was a particularly systematic, early riser. 
Nobody knew why ; only folks who have nothing to do are 
often the most particular to have the longest possible time 
to do it in. 

“ Aunt,” said Nina, “ there ’s a poor fellow, out here, 
whose mistress is just dead, all alone in the house, and wants 
to get some woman to go there to help. Can’t you spare 
Milly ? ” 

“ Milly was going to clear-starch my caps, this morning,” 
said Aunt Nesbit. “ I have arranged everything with refer- 
ence to it, for a week past.” 

“ Well, aunt, can’t she do it to-morrow, or next day, just 
as well ? ” 

“ To-morrow she is going to rip up that black dress, and 
wash it. I am always systematic, and have everything ar- 
ranged beforehand. Should like very much to do anything 
I could, if it was n’t for that. Why can’t you send Aunt 
Katy ? ” 

“ Why, aunt, you know we are to have company to din- 
ner, and Aunt Katy is the only one who knows where any- 
thing is, or how to serve things out to the cook. Besides, 
she ’s so hard and cross to poor people, I don’t think she 
would go. I don’t see, I ’m sure, in such a case as this, 
why you could n’t put your starching off. Milly is such a 
kind, motherly, experienced person, and they are in afflic- 
tion.” 

“ 0, these low families don’t mind such things much,” 
said Aunt Nesbit, fitting on her cap, quietly ; “ they never 


124 


THE DEATH. 


have much feeling. There ’s no use doing for them — they 
are miserable poor creatures.” 

“ Aunt Nesbit, do, now, as a favor to me I I don’t often 
ask favors,” said Nina. “ Do let Milly go ! she ’s just the 
one wanted. Do, now, say yes ! ” And Nina pressed nearer, 
and actually seemed to overpower her slow-feeling, torpid 
relative, with the vehemence that sparkled in her eyes. 

“Well, I don’t care, if — ” 

“There, Milly, she says yes I ” said she, springing out 
the door. “ She says you may. Now, hurry ; get things 
ready. I ’ll run and have Aunt Katy put up biscuits and 
things for the children ; and you get all that you know you 
will want, and be off quick, and I ’ll have the pony got up, 
and come on behind you.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE PREPARATION. 

The excitement produced by the arrival of Tiff, and the 
fitting out of Milly to the cottage, had produced a most 
favorable diversion in Nina’s mind from her own especial 
perplexities. 

Active and buoyant, she threw herself at once into what- 
ever happened to come uppermost on the tide of events. 
So, having seen the wagon despatched, she sat down to 
breakfast in high spirits. 

“ Aunt Nesbit, I declare I was so interested in that old 
man ! I intend to have the pony, after breakfast, and ride 
over there.” 

“ I thought you were expecting company /' 9 

“ Well, that’s one reason, now, why I’d like to be off. 
Do I want to sit all primmed up, smiling and smirking, and 
running to the window to see if my gracious lord is com- 
ing ? No, I won’t do that, to please any of them. If I 
happen to fancy to be out riding, I will be out riding.” 

“ I think,” said Aunt Nesbit, “that the hovels of these 
miserable creatures are no proper place for a young lady 
of your position in life.” 

“ My position in life ! I don’t see what that has to do 
with it. My position in life enables me to do anything I 
please — a liberty which I take pretty generally. And, then, 
really, I could n’t help feeling rather sadly about it, because 
that Old Tiff, there (I believe that ’s his name), told me that 
the woman had been of a good Virginia family. Very likely 
she may have been just such another wild girl as I am, and 
11 * 


126 


THE PREPARATION. 


thought as little about bad times, and of dying, as I do. 
So I could n’t help feeling sad for her. It really came over 
me when I was walking in the garden. Such a beautiful 
morning as it was — the birds all singing, and the dew 
all glittering and shining on the flowers ! Why, aunt, the 
flowers really seemed alive ; it seemed as though I could 
hear them breathing, and hear their hearts beating like 
mine. And, all of a sudden, I heard the most wild, mourn- 
ful singing, over in the woods. It was n’t anything very 
beautiful, you know, but it was so wild, and strange ! ' She 
is dead and gone to heaven ! — she is dead and gone to 
heaven ! ’ And pretty soon I saw the funniest old wagon 
— I don’t know what to call it — and this queer old black 
man in it, with an old white hat and surtout on, and a pair of 
great, funny-looking spectacles on his nose. I went to the 
fence to see who he was ; and he came up and spoke to me, 
made the most respectful bow — you ought to have seen it! 
And then, poor fellow, he told me how his mistress was 
lying dead, with the children around her, and nobody in the 
house ! The poor old creature, he actually cried, and I felt 
so for him ! He seemed to be proud of his dead mistress, 
in spite of her poverty.” 

“ Where do they live ? ” said Mrs. Nesbit. 

“ Why, he told me over in the pine woods, near the 
swamp.” 

“ 0,” said Mrs. Nesbit, “ I dare say it’s that Cripps fam- 
ily, that ’s squatted in the pine woods. A most miserable 
set — all of them liars and thieves ! If I had known who it 
was, I ’m sure I should n’t have let Milly go over. Such 
families ought n’t to be encouraged ; there ought n’t a thing 
to be done for them ; we should n’t encourage them to stay 
in the neighborhood. They always will steal from off the 
plantations, and corrupt the negroes, and get drunk, and 
everything else that’s bad. There’s never a woman of 
decent character among them, that ever I heard of; and, if 
you were my daughter, I should n’t let you go near them.” 

u Well, I ’m not your daughter, thank fortune ! ” said Nina, 


THE PREPARATION. 


127 


whose graces always rapidly declined in controversies with 
her aunt, “ and so I shall do as I please. And I don’t know 
what you pious people talk so for ; for Christ went with 
publicans and sinners, I ’m sure.” 

“ Well,” said Aunt Nesbit, “the Bible says we mustn’t 
cast pearls before swine ; and, when you ’ve lived to be as 
old as I am, you ’ll know more than you do now. Every- 
body knows that you can’t do anything with these people. 
You can’t give them Bibles, nor tracts ; for they can’t read. 
1 ’ve tried it, sometimes, visiting them, and talking to them ; 
but it didn’t do them any good. I always thought there 
ought to be a law passed to make ’em all slaves, and then 
there would be somebody to take care of them.” 

“Well, I can’t see,” said Nina, “how it’s their fault. 
There is n’t any school where they could send their chil- 
dren, if they wanted to learn ; and, then, if they want to 
work, there’s nobody who wants to hire them. So, what 
can they do ? ” 

“ I ’m sure I don’t know,” said Aunt Nesbit, in that tone 
which generally means I don’t care. “ All I know is, that 
I want them to get away from the neighborhood. Giving 
to them is just like putting into a bag with holes. I ’m sure 
I put myself to a great inconvenience on their account to- 
day ; for, if there ’s anything I do hate, it is having things 
irregular. And to-day is the day for clear-starching the 
caps — and such a good, bright, sunny day ! — and to-morrow, 
or any other day of the week, it may rain. Always puts 
me all out to have things that I ’ve laid out to do put out 
of their regular order. I ’d been willing enough to have 
sent over some old things ; but why they must needs take 
Milly’s time, just as if the funeral could n’t have got ready 
without her ! These funerals are always miserable drunken 
times with them ! And, then, who knows, she may catch 
the small-pox, or something or other. There ’s never any 
knowing what these people die of.” 

“They die of just such things as we do,” said Nina. 
“ They have that in common with us, at any rate.” 


128 


THE PREPARATION. 


“ Yes ; but there ’s no reason for risking our lives, as I 
know of — especially for such people — when it don’t do 
any good.” 

“ Why, aunt, what do you know against these folks ? 
Have you ever known of their doing anything wicked ? ” 

“ 0, I don’t know that I know anything against this 
family in particular ; but I know the whole race. These 
squatters — 1 ’ve known them ever since I was a girl in 
Virginia. Everybody that knows anything knows exactly 
what they are. There is n’t any help for them, unless, as I 
said before, they were made slaves ; and then they could be 
kept decent. You may go to see them, if you like, but I 
don’t want my arrangements to be interfered with on their 
account.” 

Mrs. Nesbit was one of those quietly-persisting people, 
whose yielding is like the stretching of an India-rubber 
band, giving Avay only to a violent pull, and going back to 
the same place when the force is withdrawn. She seldom 
refused favors that were urged with any degree of impor- 
tunity ; not because her heart was touched, but simply 
because she seemed not to have force enough to refuse; 
and whatever she granted was always followed by a series 
of subdued lamentations over the necessity which had 
wrung them from her. 

Nina’s nature was so vehement and imperious, when 
excited, that it was a disagreeable fatigue to cross her. 
Mrs. Nesbit, therefore,, made amends by bemoaning her- 
self as we have seen. Nina started up, hastily, on seeing 
her pony brought round to the door ; and, soon arrayed in 
her riding-dress, she was cantering through the pine woods 
in high spirits. The day was clear and beautiful. The floor 
of the woodland path was paved with a thick and cleanly 
carpet of the fallen pine-leaves. And Harry was in attend- 
ance with her, mounted on another horse, and riding but a 
very little behind ; not so much so but what his mistress 
could, if she would, keep up a conversation with him. 

“ You know this Old Tiff, Harry ? ” 


THE PREPARATION. 


129 


“ 0, yes, very well. A very good, excellent creature, and 
very much the superior of his master, in most respects. 77 
“ Well, he says his mistress came of a good family/ 7 
“ I should n 7 t Wonder, 77 said Harry. “ She always had a 
delicate appearance, very different from people in their cir- 
cumstances generally. The children, too, are remarkably 
pretty, well-behaved children ; and it 7 s a pity they could n 7 t 
be taught something, and not grow up and go on these mis- 
erable ways of these poor whites 1 77 

“ Why don 7 t anybody ever teach them ? 77 said Nina. 

“ Well, Miss Nina, you know how it is : everybody has 
his own work and business to attend to — there are no 
schools for them to go to — there 7 s no work for them to do. 
In fact, there don 7 t seem to be any place for them in society. 
Boys generally grow up to drink and swear. And, as for 
girls, they are of not much account. So it goes on from 
generation to generation. 77 

“ This is so strange, and so different from what it is in the 
northern states ! Why, all the children go to school there 
— the very poorest people 7 s children ! Why, a great many 
of the first men, there, were poor children ! Why can 7 t 
there be some such thing here ? 77 

“ 0, because people are settled in such a scattering way 
they can 7 t have schools. All the land that 7 s good for any 
thing is taken up for large estates. And, then, these poor 
folks that are scattered up and down in between, it 7 s no- 
body’s business to attend to them, and they can’t attend to 
themselves ; and so they grow up, and nobody knows how 
they live, and everybody seems to think it a pity they are 
in the world. 1 7 ve seen those sometimes that would be glad 
to do something, if they could find anything to do. Planters 
don’t want them on their places — they 7 d rather have their 
own servants. If one of them wants to be a blacksmith, or 
a carpenter, there 7 s no encouragement. Most of the large 
estates have their own carpenters and blacksmiths. And 
there 7 s nothing for them to do, unless it is keeping dogs 
to hunt negroes ; or these little low stores where they sell 


130 


THE PREPARATION. 


whiskey, and take what ’s stolen from the plantations 
Sometimes a smart one gets a place as overseer on a plan- 
tation. Why, I ’ve heard of their coming so low as actually 
to sell their children to traders, to get a bit of bread. ” 

“ What miserable creatures ! But do you suppose it can 
be possible that a woman of any respectable family can have 
married a man of this sort ? ” 

“ Well, I don’t know, Miss Nina ; that might be. You 
see, good families sometimes degenerate ; and when they get 
too poor to send their children off to school, or keep any 
teachers for them, they run down very fast. This man is 
not bad-looking, and he really is a person who, if he had had 
any way opened to him, might have been a smart man, and 
made something of himself and family ; and when he was 
young and better-looking, I should n’t wonder if an unedu- 
cated girl, who had never been off a plantation, might have 
liked him ; he was fully equal, I dare say, to her brothers. 
You see, Miss Nina, when money goes, in this part of the 
country, everything goes with it ; and when a family is not 
rich enough to have everything in itself, it goes down very 
soon.” 

“ At any rate, I pity the poor things,” said Nina. “ I 
don’t despise them, as Aunt Nesbit does.” 

Here Nina, observing the path clear and uninterrupted 
for some distance under the arching pines, struck her horse 
into a canter, and they rode on for some distance without 
speaking. Soon the horse’s feet splashed and pattered on 
the cool, pebbly bottom of a small, shallow stream, which 
flowed through the woods. This stream went meandering 
among the pines like a spangled ribbon, sometimes tying 
itself into loops, leaving open spots — almost islands of 
green — graced by its waters. Such a little spot now 
opened to the view of the two travellers. It was something 
less than a quarter of an acre in extent, entirely surrounded 
by the stream, save only a small neck of about four feet, 
which connected it to the main land. 

Here a place had been cleared and laid off into a garden, 


THE PREPARATION. 


131 


which, it was evident, was carefully tended. The log-cabin 
which stood in the middle was far from having the appear- 
ance of wretchedness which Nina had expected. It was 
almost entirely a dense mass of foliage, being covered with 
the intermingled drapery of the Virginia creeper and the 
yellow jessamine. Two little borders, each side of the house, 
were blooming with flowers. Around the little island the 
pine-trees closed in unbroken semi-circle, and the brook 
meandered away through them, to lose itself eventually in 
that vast forest of swampy land which girdles the whole 
Carolina shore. The whole air of the place was so unex- 
pectedly inviting, in its sylvan stillness and beauty, that 
Nina could not help checking her horse, and exclaiming, 

“ I ’m sure, it ’s a pretty place. They can’t be such very 
forsaken people, after all.” 

“0, that’s all Tiff’s work,” said Harry. "He takes 
care of everything outside and in, while the man is off after 
nobody knows what. You ’d be perfectly astonished to see 
how that old creature manages. He sews, and he knits, 
and works the garden, does the house-work, and teaches the 
children. It ’s a fact ! You ’ll notice that they have n’t the 
pronunciation or the manners of these wild white children ; 
and I take it to be all Tiff’s watchfulness, for that creature 
has n’t one particle of selfishness in him. He just identifies 
himself with his mistress and her children.” 

By this time Tiff had perceived their approach, and came 
out to assist them in dismounting. 

" De Lord above bless you, Miss Gordon, for coming to 
S 3 e my poor missis ! Ah ! she is lying dere just as beauti- 
ful, just as she was the very day she was married I All her 
young looks come back to her; and Milly, she done laid 
her out beautiful ! Lord, I ’s wanting somebody to come 
and look at her, because she has got good blood, if she be 
poor. She is none of your common sort of poor whites, 
Miss Nina. Just come in ; come in, and look at her.” 

Nina stepped into the open door of the hut. The bed 
was covered with a clean white sheet, and the body, arrayed 


132 


THE PREPARATION. 


in a long white night-dress brought by Milly, lay there so 
very still, quiet, and life-like, that one could scarcely realize 
the presence of death. The expression of exhaustion, 
fatigue, and anxiety, which the face had latterly worn, had 
given place to one of tender rest, shaded by a sort of mys- 
terious awe, as if the closed eyes were looking on unutter- 
able things. The soul, though sunk below the horizon cf 
existence, had thrown back a twilight upon the face radiant 
as that of the evening heavens. 

By the head of the bed the little girl was sitting, dressed 
carefully, and her curling hair parted in front, apparently 
fresh from the brush ; and the little boy was sitting beside 
her, his round blue eyes bearing an expression of subdued 
wonder. 

Cripps was sitting at the foot of the bed, evidently much 
the worse for liquor ; for, spite of the exhortation of Tiff, he 
had applied to the whiskey-jug immediately on his depart- 
ure. Why not ? He was uncomfortable — gloomy ; and 
every one, under such circumstances, naturally inclines 
towards some source of consolation. He who is intellectual 
reads and studies ; he who is industrious flies to business ; he 
who is affectionate seeks friends ; he who is pious, religion ; 
but he who is none of these — what has he but his whiskey ? 
Cripps made a stupid, staring inclination toward Nina and 
Harry, as they entered, and sat still, twirling his thumbs and 
muttering to himself. 

The sunshine fell through the panes on the floor, and there 
came floating in from without the odor of flowers and the 
song of birds. All the Father’s gentle messengers spoke 
of comfort ; but he as a deaf man heard not — as a blind 
man did not regard. For the rest, an air of neatness had 
been imparted to the extreme poverty of the room, by the 
joint efforts of Milly and Tiff. 

Tiff entered softly, and stood by Nina, as she gazed. He 
had in his hand several sprays of white jessamine, and he 
laid one on the bosom of the dead. 


THE PREPARATION. 


133 


** She had a hard walk of it,” he said, ‘'but she 's got 
home ! Don't she look peaceful ? — poor lamb ! ” 

The little, thoughtless, gay coquette had never looked on 
a sight like this before. She stood with a fixed, tender 
thoughtfulness, unlike her usual gayety, her riding-hat hang- 
ing carelessly by its strings from her hands, her loose hair 
drooping over her face. 

She heard some one entering the cottage, but she did not 
look up. She was conscious of some one looking over her 
shoulder, and thought it was Harry. 

" Poor thing ! how young she looks,” she said, " to have 
had so much trouble ! ” Her voice trembled, and a tear stood 
in her eye. There was a sudden movement ; she looked up, 
and Clayton was standing by her. 

She looked surprised, and the color deepened in her 
cheek, but was too ingenuously and really in sympathy with 
the scene before her even to smile. She retained his hand 
a moment, and turned to the dead, saying, in an under-tone, 
" See here ! ” 

" I see,” he said. " Can I be of service ? ” 

"The poor thing died last night,” said Nina. "I sup- 
pose some one might help about a funeral. Harry,” she 
said, walking softly towards the door, and speaking low, 
"you provide a coffin ; have it made neatly.” 

" Uncle,” she said, motioning Tiff towards her, " where 
would they have her buried ? ” 

" Buried ? ” said Tiff. " 0, Lord ! buried I ” And he cov- 
ered his face with his hard hands, and the tears ran through 
his fingers. 

" Lord, Lord ! Well, it must come, I know, but 'pears 
like I could n't 1 Laws, she 's so beautiful I Don't, to-day I 
don't!” 

"Indeed, Uncle,” said Nina, tenderly, "I'm sorry I 
grieved you ; but you know, poor fellow, that must come.” 

" I 's known her ever since she 's dat high ! ” said Tiff. 
" Her har was curly, and she used to war such pretty red 
shoes, and come running after me in de garden. ' Tiff, Tiff,' 
12 


L34 


THE PREPARATION. 


she used to say — and dar she is now, and stroubles brought 
her dar ! Lord, what a pretty gal she was I pretty as you 
be, Miss Nina. But since she married dat ar ,” pointing 
with his thumb over his shoulder, and speaking confiden- 
tially, “ everything went wrong. I ’s held her up — did all 
I could ; and now here she is ! ” 

“ Perhaps,” said Nina, laying her hand on his, “ perhaps 
she ’s in a better place than this.” 

“ 0, Lord, dat she is ! She told me dat when she died. 
She saw de Lord at last, — she did so ! Dem ’s her last 
words. * Tiff/ she says, ‘ I see Him, and lie will give me 
rest. Tiff/ she says, — I ’d been asleep, you know, and I 
kinder felt something cold on my hand, and I woke up right 
sudden, and dar she was, her eyes so bright, looking at me 
and breathing so hard ; and all she says was, ‘ Tiff, I ’ve 
seen Him, and I know now why I ’ve suffered so ; He ’s 
gwine to take me, and give me rest ! ’ ” 

“ Then, my poor fellow, you ought to rejoice that she is 
safe.” 

“ ’Deed I does,” said Tiff; “yet I-’s selfish. I wants to 
be dere too, I does — only I has de chil’en to care for.” 

“ Well, my good fellow,” said Nina, “ we must leave you 
now. Harry will see about a coffin for your poor mistress ; 
and whenever the funeral is to be, our carriage will come 
over, and we will all attend.” 

“Lord bless you, Miss Gordon 1 Dat ar too good on ye ! 
My heart ’s been most broke, tinking nobody cared for my 
poor young mistress 1 you ’s too good, dat you is I ” 

Then, drawing near to her, and sinking his voice, he said : 
“ ‘Bout de mourning, Miss Nina. He an’t no ’count, you 
know — body can see how ’t is with him very plain. But 
missis was a Peyton, you know ; and I’sa Peyton, too. I 
naturally feels a ’sponsibility he could n’t be ’spected fur to. 
I ’s took de ribbons off of Miss Fanny’s bonnet, and done 
ie best I could trimming it up with black crape what Milly 
# ave me ; and I ’s got a band of black crape on Master 
Teddy’s hat ; and I Towed to put one on mine, but there 


THE PREPARATION. 


135 


was n’t quite enough. You know, missis, old family ser- 
vants always wars mourning. If missis just be pleased to 
look over my work ! Now, dis yer is Miss Fanny’s bonnet. 
Y ou know I can’t be spected for to make it like a milliner.” 

“ They are very well indeed, Uncle Tiff.” 

“ Perhaps, Miss Nina, you can kind of touch it over.” 

“ 0, if you like, Uncle Tiff, I ’ll take them all home, and 
do them for you.” 

“ The Lord bless you, Miss Gordon ! Dat ar was just 
what I wanted, but was most ’fraid to ask you. Some gay 
young ladies does n’t like to handle black.” 

“ Ah ! Uncle Tiff, I ’ve no fears of that sort ; so put it in 
the wagon, and let Milly take it home.” 

So saying, she turned and passed out of the door where 
Harry was standing, holding the horses. A third party 
might have seen, by the keen, rapid glance with which his 
eye rested upon Clayton, that he was measuring the future 
probability which might make him the arbiter of his own 
destiny — the disposer of all that was dear to him in life. 
As for Nina, although the day before a thousand fancies and 
coquetries would have colored the manner of her meeting 
Clayton, yet now she was so impressed by what she had wit- 
nessed, that she scarcely appeared to know that she had 
met him. She placed her pretty foot on his hand, and let 
him lift her on to the saddle, scarcely noticing the act, ex- 
cept by a serious, graceful inclination of her head. 

One great reason of the ascendency which Clayton had 
thus far gained over her, was that his nature, so quiet, 
speculative, and undemonstrative, always left her such per- 
fect liberty to follow the more varying moods of her own. 
A man of a different mould would have sought to awake 
her out of the trance — would have remarked on her ab- 
stracted manner, or rallied her on her silence. Clayton 
merely mounted his horse and rode quietly by her side, 
while Harry, passing on before them, was soon out of sight. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE LOVERS. 

They rode on in silence, till their horses’ feet again clat- 
tered in the clear, pebbly water of the stream. Here Nina 
checked her horse ; and, pointing round the circle of pme 
forests, and up the stream, overhung with bending trees 
and branches, said : 

“Hush! — listen!” Both stopped, and heard the sway- 
ing of the pine-trees, the babble of the waters, the cawing 
of distant crows, and the tapping of the woodpecker. 

“ How beautiful everything is ! ” she said. “ It seems to 
me so sad that people must die ! I never saw anybody dead 
before, and you don’t know how it makes me feel ! To think 
that that poor woman was just such a girl as I am, and 
used to be just so full of life, and never thought any more 
than I do that she should lie there all cold and dead ! Why 
is it things are made so beautiful, if we must die ? ” 

“ Remember what you said to the old man, Miss Nina. 
Perhaps she sees more beautiful things, now.” 

“ In heaven ? Yes ; I wish we knew more about heaven, 
so that it would seem natural and home-like to us, as this 
world does. As for me, I can’t feel that I dver want to 
le^ve this world — I enjoy living so much ! I can’t forget 
how cold her hand was ! I never felt anything like that 
cold!” 

In all the varying moods of Nina, Clayton had never seen 
anything that resembled this. But he understood the pe- 
culiar singleness and earnestness of nature which made any 
one idea, or impression, for a time absolute in her mind. 


THE LOVERS. 


137 


They turned their horses into the wood-path, and rode od 
in silence. 

“ Do you know,” said she, "it's such a change coming 
from New York to live here ? Everything is so unformed, 
so wild, and so lonely ! I never saw anything so lonesome 
as these woods are. Here you can ride miles and miles, 
hours and hours, and hear nothing but the swaying of the 
pine-trees, just as you hear it now. Our place (you never 
were there, were you ?) stands all by itself, miles from any 
other ; and I ’ve been for so many years used to a thickly- 
settled country, that it seems very strange to me. I can’t 
help thinking things look rather deserted and desolate, here. 
It makes me rather sober and sad. I don’t know as you ’ll 
like the appearance of our place. A great many things are 
going to decay about it ; and yet there are some things 
that can’t decay ; for papa was very fond of trees and shrub- 
bery, and we have a good deal more of them than usual. 
Are you fond of trees ? ” 

11 Yes ; I ’m almost a tree-worshipper. I have no respect 
for a man who can’t appreciate a tree. The only good thing 
I ever heard of Xerxes was, that he was so transported with 
the beauty of a plane-tree, that he hung it with chains of 
gold. This is a little poetical island in the barbarism of 
those days.” 

“ Xerxes ! ” said Nina. “ I believe I studied something 
about him in that dismal, tedious history, at Madame Ar- 
daine’s ; but nothing so interesting as that, I ’m sure. But 
what should he hang gold chains on a tree for ? ” 

“ ’T was the best way he knew of expressing his good 
opinion.” 

“ Do you know,” said Nina, half checking her horse, 
suddenly, “that I never had the least idea that these men 
were alive that we read about in these histories, or that 
they had any feelings like ours ? We always studied the 
lessons, and learnt the hard names, and how forty thousand 
were killed on one side, and fifty thousand on the other ; 
and we don’t know any more about it than if we never had. 

12 * 


138 


THE LOYEES. 


That ’s the way we girls studied at school, except a few 
1 poky ’ ones, who wanted to be learned, or meant to be 
teachers.” 

“ An interesting resume, certainly,” said Clayton, laugh- 
ing. 

“ But, how strange it is,” said Nina, “ to think that all 
those folks we read about are alive now, doing something 
somewhere ; and I get to wondering where they are — 
Xerxes, and Alexander, and the rest of them. Why, they 
were so full of life they kept everything in commotion while 
in this world ; and I wonder if they have been keeping 
a going ever since. Perhaps Xerxes has been looking round 
at our trees — nobody knows. But here we are coming now 
to the beginning of our grounds. There, you see that holly- 
hedge ! Mamma had that set out. She travelled in England, 
and liked the hedges there so much that she thought she 
would see what could be done with our American holly. 
So she had these brought from the woods, and planted. 
You see it all grows wild, now, because it has n’t been cut 
for many years. And this live-oak avenue my grandfather 
set out. It’s my pride and delight.” 

As she spoke, a pair of broad gates swung open, and 
they cantered in beneath the twilight arches of the oaks. 
Long wreaths of pearly moss hung swinging from the 
branches, and, although the sun now was at high noon, a 
dewy, dreamy coolness seemed to rustle through all the 
leaves. As Clayton passed in, he took off his hat, as he 
had often done in foreign countries in cathedrals. 

. “ Welcome to Canema ! ” said she, riding up to him, and 
looking up frankly into his face. 

The air, haif queenly, half childish, with which this was 
said, was acknowledged by Clayton with a grave smile, as 
he replied, bowing, 

tl Thank you, madam.” 

“ Perhaps,” she added, in a grave tone, “you ’ll be sorry 
that you ever came here.” 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” he replied. 


THE LOVERS. 


139 


“ I don’t know ; it just came into my head to say it. 
We none of us ever know what’s going to come of what 
we do.” 

At this instant, a violent clamor, like the cawing of a 
crow, rose on one side of the avenue ; and the moment 
after, Tomtit appeared, caricoling, and cutting a somerset ; 
his curls flying, his cheeks glowing. 

“ Why, Tomtit, what upon earth is this for ? ” said Nina. 

“ Laws, missis, deres been a gen’elman waiting for you at 
the house these two hours. And missis, she ’s done got on 
her best cap, and gone down in the parlor for him.” 

Nina felt herself blush to the roots of her hair, and was 
vexed and provoked to think she did so. Involuntarily her 
eyes met Clayton’s. But he expressed neither curiosity 
nor concern. 

“ What a pretty drapery this light moss makes ! ” said 
he. “1 was n’t aware that it grew so high up in the state.” 

“ Yes ; it is very pretty,” said Nina, abstractedly. 

Clayton, however, had noticed both the message and the 
blush, and was not so ill-informed as Nina supposed as to the 
whole affair, having heard from a New York correspond- 
ent of the probability that an arrival might appear upon 
the field about this time. He was rather curious to watch 
the development produced by this event. They paced up 
the avenue, conversing in disconnected intervals, till they 
came out on the lawn which fronted the mansion — a large, 
gray, three-story building, surrounded on the four sides by 
wide balconies of wood. Access was had to the lower of 
these by a broad flight of steps. And there Nina saw, plain 
enough, her Aunt Nesbit in all the proprieties of cap and 
silk gown, sitting, making the agreeable to Mr. Carson. 

Mr. Frederic Augustus Carson was one of those nice lit- 
tle epitomes of conventional society, which appear to such 
advantage in factitious life, and are so out of place in the 
undress, sincere surroundings of country life. Nina had 
liked his society extremely well in the. drawing-rooms and 
opera-houses of New York. But, in the train of thought 


140 


THE LOVERS. 


inspired by the lonely and secluded life she was now lead- 
ing, it seemed to her an absolute impossibility that she 
could, even in coquetry and in sport, have allowed such an 
one to set up pretensions to her hand and heart. She was 
vexed with herself that she had done so, and therefore not 
in the most amiable mood for a meeting. Therefore, when, 
on ascending the steps, he mshed precipitately forward, 
and, offering his hand, called li3r Nina, she was ready to die 
with vexation. She observed, too, a peculiar swelling and 
rustling of Aunt Nesbit’s plumage, — an indescribable air 
of tender satisfaction, peculiar to elderly ladies who are 
taking an interest in an affair of the heart, which led her 
to apprehend that the bachelor had commenced operations 
by declaring his position to her. ’T was with some embar- 
rassment that Nina introduced Mr. Clayton, whom Aunt 
Nesbit received with a most stately curtsey, and Mr. Carson 
with a patronizing bow. 

“ Mr. Carson has been waiting for you these two hours,” 
said Aunt Nesbit. 

“ Very warm riding, Nina/’ said Mr. Carson, observing 
her red cheeks. * You ’ve been riding too fast, I fear. You 
must be careful of yourself. I ’ve known people bring on 
very grave illnesses by over-heating the blood 1 ” 

Clayton seated himself near the door, and seemed to be 
intent on the scene without. And Carson, drawing his 
chair close to Nina, asked, in a confidential under-tone, 

“ Who is that gentleman ? ” 

“ Mr. Clayton, of Clay ton ville,” said Nina, with as much 
hauteur as she could assume. 

“ Ah, yes 1 — Hem ! — hem ! I ’ve heard of the family — 
a very nice family — a very worthy young man — extremely, 
I ’m told Shall be happy to make his acquaintance.” 

“ I beg,” said Nina, rising, “the gentlemen will excuse 
me a moment or x two.” 

Cla/ton replied by a grave bow, while Mr. Carson, with 
great empressement, handed Nina to the door. The moment 
it was closed, she stamped, with anger, in the entry. 


THE LOVERS. 


141 


“ The provoking fool 1 to take these airs with me l And 
I, too — I deserve it ! What on earth could make me think 
I could tolerate that man ? '' 

As if Nina's cup were not yet full, Aunt Nesbit followed 
her to her chamber with an air of unusual graciousness. 

“ Nina, my dear, he has told me all about it ! and I as- 
sure you I 'm very much pleased with him ! '' 

“ Told you all about what?” said Nina. 

“ Why, your engagement, to be sure ! I 'm delighted to 
think you 've done so well ! I think your Aunt Maria, and 
all of them, will be delighted ! Takes a weight of care off 
my mind I '' 

“ I wish you would n't trouble yourself about me, or my 
affairs, Aunt Nesbit ! " said Nina. “ And, as for this old 
pussy-cat, with his squeaking boots, I won't have him pur- 
ring round me, that 's certain I So provoking, to take that 
way towards me 1 Call me Nina, and talk as though he 
were lord paramount of me, and everything here ! I '11 let 
him know ! " 

“ Why, Nina ! Seems to me this is very strange conduct I 
I am very much astonished at you ! " 

“ I dare say you are, aunt ! I never knew the time I 
did n't astonish you ! But this man I detest ! " 

“ Well, then, my dear, what were you engaged to him 
for ? " 

“Engaged! Aunt, for pity's sake, do hush I Engaged I I 
should like to know what a New York engagement amounts 
to I Engaged at the opera ! — Engaged for a joke 1 Why, 
he was my bouquet-holder ! The man is just an opera 
libretto 1 He was very useful in his time. But who wants 
him afterwards ? " 

“ But, my dear Nina, this trifling with gentlemen's 
hearts 1 " 

“ I '11 warrant his heart 1 It 's neither sugar nor salt, I 'll 
assure you. I '11 tell you what, aunt, he loves good eat- 
ing, good drinking, nice clothes, nice houses, and good 
times generally ; and he wants a pretty wife as a part of a 


142 


THE LOVERS. 


whole ; and he thinks he’ 11 take me. But he is mistaken ! 
Calling me ‘ Nina/ indeed ! Just let me have a chance of 
seeing him alone ! I ’ll teach him to call me ‘ Nina ’ ! I ’ll 
let him know how things stand ! ” 

“ But, Nina, you must confess you ’ve given him occasion 
for all this.” 

“ Well, supposing I have ? I ’ll give him occasion for 
something else, then ! ” 

“Why, my dear,” said Aunt Nesbit, “he came on to 
know when you ’ll fix the day to be married ! ” 

“ Married ! 0, my gracious ! Just think of the creature’s 
talking about it ! Well, it is my fault, as you say ; but I ’ll 
do the best I can to mend it.” 

“ Well, I ’m really sorry for him,” said Aunt Nesbit. 
“You are, aunt? Why don’t you take him yourself, 
then ? You are as young and good-looking as he is.” 

“ Nina, how you talk ! ” said Aunt Nesbit, coloring and 
bridling. “ There was a time when I was n’t bad-looking, 
to be sure ; but that ’s long since past.” 

“ 0, that ’s because you always dress in stone-color and 
drab,” said Nina, as she stood brushing and arranging her 
curls. “ Come, now, and go down, aunt, and do the best 
you can till I make my appearance. After all, as you say, 
I ’m the most to blame. There ’s no use in being vexed 
with the old soul. So, aunt, do be as fascinating as you 
can ; see if you can’t console him. Only remember how you 
used to turn off lovers, when you were of my age.” 

“ And who is this other gentleman, Nina ? ” 

“ 0, nothing, only he is a friend of mine. A very good 
man — good enough for a minister, any day, aunt, and not 
so stupid as good people generally are, either.” 

“Well, perhaps you are engaged to him ? ” 

“ No, I am not ; that is to say, I won’t be to anybody. 
This is an insufferable business! I like Mr. Clayton/be- 
cause he can let me alone, don’t look at me in that abom- 
inably delighted way all the time, and dance about, calling 


THE LOVERS. 


143 


me Nina I He and I are very good friends, that ’s all. I ’m 
not going to have any engagements anywhere .” 

11 Well, Nina, I ’ll go down, and you make haste.” 

While the gentlemen and Aunt Nesbit were waiting in 
the saloon, Carson made himself extremely happy and at 
home. It was a large, cool apartment, passing, like a hall, 
completely through the centre of the house. Long French 
windows, at either end, opened on to balconies. The pillars 
of the balconies were draped and garlanded with wreaths 
of roses now in full bloom. The floor of the room was the 
polished mosaic of different colors to which we have for- 
merly alluded. Over the mantel-piece was sculptured in oak 
the Gordon arms. The room was wainscoted with dark 
wood, and hung with several fine paintings, by Copley and 
Stuart, of different members of the family. A grand piano, 
lately arrived from New York, was the most modern-looking 
article in the room. Most of the furniture was of the heavy 
dark mahogany, of an antique pattern. Clayton sat by the 
door, still admiring the avenue of oaks which were to be 
seen across the waving green of the lawn. 

In about half an hour Nina reappeared in a flossy cloud 
of muslin, lace, and gauzy ribbons. Dress was one of those 
accomplishments for which the little gypsy had a natural in- 
stinct ; and, without any apparent thought, she always fell 
into that kind of color and material which harmonized with 
her style of appearance and character. There was always 
something floating and buoyant about the arrangement of 
her garments and drapery ; so that to see her move across 
the floor gave one an airy kind of sensation, like the gam- 
bols of thistle-down. Her brown eyes had a peculiar re- 
semblance to a bird’s ; and this effect was increased by a 
twinkling motion of the head, and a fluttering habit of move- 
ment peculiar to herself ; so that when she swept by in 
rosy gauzes, and laid one ungloved hand lightly on the 
piano, she seemed to Clayton much like some saucy bird — 
very good indeed if let alone, but ready to fly on the slight- 
est approach. 


144 


THE LOVERS. 


Clayton had the rare faculty of taking in every available 
point of observation, without appearing to stare. 

“ Ton my word, Nina,” said Mr. Carson, coming towards 
ner with a most delighted air, “ you look as if you had fallen 
out of a rainbow ! ” 

Nina turned away very coolly, and began arranging her 
music. 

“ 0, that ’s right ! ” said Carson ; “ give us one of your 
songs. Sing something from the Favorita. You know it ’s 
my favorite opera,” said he, assuming a most sentimental 
expression. 

“ 0, I ’m entirely out of practice — I don’t sing at all. 
I ’m sick of all those opera-songs ! ” And Nina skimmed 
across the floor, and out of the open door by which Clayton 
was lounging, and began busying herself amid the flowers 
that wreathed the porch. In a moment Carson was at her 
heels ; for he was one of those persons who seem to think 
it a duty never to allow any one to be quiet, if they can pos- 
sibly prevent it. 

“ Have you ever studied the language of flowers, Nina ? ” 
said he. • 

“ No, I don’t like to study languages.” 

“You know the signification of a full-blown rose?” said 
he, tenderly presenting her with one. 

Nina took the rose, coloring with vexation, and then,- 
pluckii g from the bush a rose of two or three days’ bloom, 
whose leaves were falling out, she handed it to him, and 
said, 

“ Do you understand the signification of this? ” 

“ 0, you have made an unfortunate selection ! This rose is 
all falling to pieces ! ” said Mr. Carson, innocently. 

“ So I observed,” said Nina, turning away quickly ; then, 
making one of her darting movements, she was in the mid- 
dle of the saloon again, just as the waiter announced dinner. 

Clayton rose gravely, and offered his arm to Aunt Nesbit ; 
and Nina found herself obliged to accept the delighted 
escort of Mr. Carson, who, entirety unperceiving, was in 


THE LOVERS. 


145 


the briskest possible spirits, and established himseif com- 
fortably between Aunt Nesbit and Nina. 

“ You must find it very dull here — very barren country, 
shockingly so ! What do you find to interest yourself 
in ? ” said he. 

“ Will you take some of this gumbo ? ” replied Nina. 

“ I always thought,” said Aunt Nesbit, “ it was a good 
plan for girls to have a course of reading marked out to 
them when they left school.” 

“ 0, certainly,” said Carson. “ I shall be happy to mark 
out one for her. I ’ve done it for several young ladies.” 

At this moment Nina accidentally happened to catch . 
Clayton’s eye, which was fixed upon Mr. Carson with an air 
of quiet amusement greatly disconcerting to her. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Carson, “I have no opinion of making 
blues of young ladies ; but still, I think, Mrs. Nesbit, that a 
little useful information adds greatly to their charms. Don’t 
you ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Nesbit. “ I ’ve been reading Gibbon’s 
Decline and Fall of the Eoman Empire, lately.” 

“ Yes,” said Nina, “ aunt ’s been busy about that ever 
since I can remember.” t 

“ That ’s a very nice book,” said Mr. Carson, looking 
solemnly at Nina ; “ only, Mrs. Nesbit, an’t you afraid of 
the infidel principle ? I think, in forming the minds of the 
young, you know, one cannot be too careful.” 

“ Why, he struck me as a very pious writer ! ” said Aunt 
Nesbit, innocently. “ I ’m sure, he makes the most reli- 
gious reflections, all along. I liked him particularly on that 
account.” 

It seemed to Nina that, without looking at Clayton, she 
was forced to meet his eye. No matter whether she di- 
rected her attention to the asparagus or the potatoes, it 
was her fatality always to end by a rencounter with his eye ; 
and she saw, for some reason or other, the conversation was 
extremely amusing to him. 

“ For my part,” said Nina, “ I don’t know what sort of 
13 


146 


THE LOVERS. 


principles Aunt Nesbit’s history, there, has ; but one thing 
1 ’m pretty certain of, — that I’m not in any danger from 
any such thick, close-printed, Ad, stupid-looking books as 
that. I hate reading, and I don’t intend to have my mind 
formed ; so that nobody need trouble themselves to mark 
out courses for me ! What is it to me what all these old 
empires have been, a hundred years ago ? It is as much as 
I can do to attend to what is going on now.” 

“ For my part,’' said Aunt Nesbit, “ I ’ve always regretted 
that I neglected the cultivation of my mind when I was 
young. I was like Nina, here, immersed in vanity and 
folly.” 

“ People always talk,” said Nina, reddening, “ as if there 
was but one kind of vanity and folly in the world. I think 
there can be as much learned vanity and folly as we girls 
have 1 ” And she looked at Clayton indignantly, as she saw 
him laughing. 

“ I agree with Miss Gordon, entirely. There is a great 
deal of very stupid respectable trifling, which people pur- 
sue under the head of courses of reading,” he said. “ And 
I don’t wonder that most compends of history which are 
studied in schools should inspire any lively young lady 
with a life-long horror, not only of history, but of reading.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” said Nina, with a look of inexpress- 
ible relief. 

“ I do, indeed,” said Clayton. “ And it would have been 
a very good thing for many of our historians, if they had 
been obliged to have shaped their histories so that they 
would interest a lively school-girl. We literary men, then, 
would have found less sleepy reading. There is no reason 
why a young lady, who would sit up all night reading a 
ncvel, should not be made to sit up all night with a history. 
I ’ll venture to say there ’s no romance can come up to the 
gorgeousness and splendoi, and the dramatic power, of 
things that really have happened. All that ’s wanting is to 
have it set before us with an air of reality.” 


THE LOVERS. 


147 


“ But, then,” said Nina, “ you 'd have to make the his- 
tory into a romance.” 

“ Well, a good historical romance is generally truer than 
a dull history ; because it gives some sort of conception of 
the truth ; whereas, the dull history gives none.” 

“ Well, then,” said Nina, “ 1 'll confess, now, that about 
all the history I do know has been got from Walter Scott's 
novels. I always told our history-teacher so ; but she in- 
sisted upon it that it was very dangerous reading.” 

“For my part,” said Mrs. Nesbit, “I 've a great horror 
of novel-reading, particularly for young ladies. It did me 
a great deal of harm when I was young. It dissipates the 
mind ; it gives false views of life.” 

“ 0, law ! ” said Nina. “ We used to write compositions 
about that, and I 've got it all by heart — how it raises 
false expectations, and leads people to pursue phantoms, 
rainbows, and meteors, and all that sort of thing ! ” 

“And yet,” said Clayton, “all these objections would 
lie against perfectly true history, and the more so just in 
proportion to its truth. If the history of Napoleon Bon- 
aparte were graphically and minutely given, it would lie 
open to the very same objections. It would produce the 
very same cravings for something out of the commonplace 
course of life. There would be the same dazzling mixture 
of bad and good qualities in the hero, and the same lassi- 
tude and exhaustion after the story was finished. And com- 
mon history does not do this, simply because it is not true 
— does not produce a vivid impression of the reality as it 
happened.” 

Aunt Nesbit only got an indefinite impression, from this 
harangue, that Clayton was defending novel-reading, and 
felt herself called to employ her own peculiar line of rea- 
soning to meet it, which consisted in saying the same thing 
over and over, at regular intervals, without appearing to hear 
or notice anything said in reply. Accordingly, she now 
drew herself up, with a slightly virtuous air, and said to Mr. 
Clayton, 


148 


THE LOVERS. 


“ I must say, after all, that I don’t approve of novel-read- 
ing. It gives false views of life, and disgusts young people 
with their duties.” 

“ I was only showing, madam, that the same objection 
would apply to the best-written history,” said Clayton. 

“I think novel-reading does a great deal of harm,” re- 
joined Aunt Nesbit. “ I never allow myself to read any 
work of fiction. I ’m principled against it.” 

“ For my part,” said Nina, “ I wish I could find that kind 
of history you are speaking of; I believe I could read that.” 

“ ’T would be. very interesting history, certainly,” said 
Mr. Carson. “ I should think it would prove a very charm- 
ing mode of writing. I wonder somebody don’t produce 
cne.” 

“For my part,” said Aunt Nesbit, “ I confine myself en- 
tirely to what is practically useful. Useful information is 
all I desire.” 

“ Well, I suppose, then, I ’m very wicked,” said Nina ; 
“but I don’t like anything useful. Why, I ’ve sometimes 
thought, when I ’ve been in the garden, that the summer- 
savory, sage, and sweet-majoram, were just as pretty as 
many other flowers ; and I could n’t see any reason why I 
should n’t like a sprig of one of them for a bouquet, except 
that I ’ve seen them used so much for stuffing turkeys. 
Well, now, that seems very bad of me, don’t it ? ” 

“ That reminds me,” said Aunt Nesbit, “ that Rose has 
been putting sage into this turkey again, after all that I 
said to her. I believe she does it on purpose.” 

At this moment Harry appeared at the door, and requested 
to speak to Nina. 

After a few moments’ whispered conversation, she came 
back to the table, apparently disconcerted. 

“ I ’m so sorry — sc very sorry 1 ” she said. “ Harry has 
been riding all round the country to find a minister to attend 
the funeral, this evening. It will be such a disappointment 
to that poor fellow ! You know the negroes think so much 
of having prayers at the grave 1 ” 


THE LOVERS. 


149 


“ If no one else can be found to read prayers, I will,” 
said Clayton. 

“ 0, thank you ! will you, indeed ? ” said Nina. “ I 'm 
glad of it, now, for poor Tiff's sake. The coach will be out 
at five o'clock, and we '11 ride over together, and make as 
much of a party as we can.” 


“ Why, child,” said Aunt Nesbit to Nina, after they re 
turned to the parlor, “ 1 did not know that Mr. Clayton was 
an Episcopalian.” 

“ He is n't,” said Nina. “He and Lx$* family all attend 
the Presbyterian church.” 

“ How strange that he should offer to read prayers ! ” said 
Aunt Nesbit. “ I don't approve of such things, for my 
part.” 

“ Such things as what ? ” 

“ Countenancing Episcopal errors. If we are right, they 
are wrong, and we ought not to countenance them.” 

“ But, aunt, the burial-service is beautiful.” 

“ Don't approve of it ! ” said Aunt Nesbit. 

“ Why, you know, as Clayton is n't a minister, he would 
not feel like making an extempore prayer.” 

“Shows great looseness of religious principle,” said 
Aunt Nesbit. “ Don't approve of it ! ” 

13 * 


CHAPTER XII. 


EXPLANATIONS. 

The golden arrows of the setting sun were shooting 
hither and thither through the pine woods, glorifying what- 
ever they touched with a life not its own. A chorus of 
birds were pouring out an evening melody, when a little 
company stood around an open grave. With instinctive 
care for the feeling of the scene, Nina had arrayed herself 
in a black silk dress, and plain straw bonnet with black 
ribbon — a mark of respect to the deceased remembered and 
narrated by Tiff for many a year after. 

Cripps stood by the head of the grave, with that hopeless, 
imbecile expression with which a nature wholly gross and 
animal often contemplates the symbols of the close of mor- 
tal existence. Tiff stood by the side of the grave, his white 
hat conspicuously draped with black crape, and a deep weed 
of black upon his arm. The baby, wrapped in an old black 
shawl, was closely fondled in his bosom, while the two chil- 
dren stood weeping bitterly at his side. The other side of 
the grave stood Mr. Carson and Mr. Clayton, while Milly, 
Harry, and several plantation slaves, were in a group 
behind. 

The coffin had been opened, that all might take that last 
look, so coveted, yet so hopeless, which the human heart 
will claim on the very verge of the grave. It was but a 
moment since the coffin had been closed ; and the burst of 
grief which shook the children was caused by that last 
farewell. As Clayton, in a musical voice, pronounced the 
words “1 am the resurrection and the life,” Nina wept and 


EXPLANATIONS, 


151 


sobbed as if the grief had been her own ; nor did she cease 
to weep during the whole touching service. It was the 
same impulsive nature which made her so gay in other 
scenes that made her so sympathetic here. When the whole 
was over, she kissed the children, and, shaking hands with 
old Tiff, promised to come and see them on the morrow. 
After which, Clayton led her to the carriage, into which he 
and Carson followed her. 

“ Upon my word,” said Carson, briskly, “this has been 
quite solemn ! Really, a very interesting funeral, indeed ! 
I was delighted with the effect of our church service ; in 
such a romantic place, too ! ’T was really very interesting. 
It pleases me, also, to see young ladies in your station, 
Nina, interest themselves in the humble concerns of the 
poor. If young ladies knew how much more attractive it 
made them to show a charitable spirit, they would cultivate 
it more. Singular-looking person, that old negro ! Seems 
to be a good creature. Interesting children, too ! I should 
think the woman must have been pretty when she was 
young. Seen a great deal of trouble, no doubt, poor thing ! 
It ’s a comfort to hope she is better off now.” 

Nina was filled with indignation at this monologue ; 
not considering that the man was giving the very best he 
had in him, and laboring assiduously at what he considered 
his vocation, the prevention of half an hour of silence in 
any spot of earth where he could possibly make himself 
heard. The same excitement which made Nina cry made 
him talk. But he was not content with talking, but in- 
sisted upon asking Nina, every moment, if she did n’t think 
it an interesting occasion, and if she had not been much 
impressed. 

“ I don’t feel like talking, Mr. Carson,” said Nina. 

“ 0 — ah — yes, indeed ! You ’ve been so deeply affected 
— yes. Naturally does incline one to silence. Understand 
your feelings perfectly. Very gratifying to me to see you 
take such a deep interest in your fellow-creatures.” 

Nina could have pushed him out of the carriage. 


152 


EXPLANATIONS. 


“ For my part,” continued Carson, “ 1 think we dcn't 
reflect enough about this kind of things — I positively 
don't. It really is useful sometimes to have one's thoughts 
turned in this direction. It does us good.” 

Thus glibly did Carson proceed to talk away the impres- 
sion of the whole scene they had witnessed. Long before 
the carriage reached home, Nina had forgotten all her 
sympathy in a tumult of vexation. She discovered an 
increasing difficulty in making Carson understand, by 
any degree of coolness, that he was not acceptable ; and 
saw nothing before her but explanations in the very plainest 
terms, mortifying and humiliating as that might be. His 
perfect self-complacent ease, and the air with which he 
constantly seemed to appropriate her as something which 
of right belonged to himself, filled her with vexation. But 
yet her conscience told her that she had brought it upon 
herself. 

“ I won't bear this another hour ! ” she said to herself, as 
she ascended the steps toward the parlor. “ All this before 
Clayton, too ! What must he think of me?” But they 
found tea upon the table, and Aunt Nesbit waiting. 

‘It's a pity, madam, you were not with us. Such an 
interesting time 1 ” said Mr. Carson, launching, with great 
volubility, into the tide of discourse. 

“ It would n't have done for me at all,” said Mrs. Nes- 
bit. “ Being out when the dew falls, always brings on 
hoarseness. 1 have been troubled in that way these two or 
three years. Now I have to be very careful. Then I 'm 
timid about riding in a carriage with John's driving.” 

“ I was amused enough,” said Nina, “with Old Hun- 
dred’s indignation at having to get out the carriage and 
horses to go over to what he called a ‘ cracker funeral.' I 
really believe, if he could have upset us without hurting 
himself, he would have done it.” 

“ For my part,” said Aunt Nesbit, “I hope that family 
will move off before long. It 's very disagreeable having 
such people round.” 


EXPLANATIONS. 


153 


“ The children look very pretty and bright,” said Nina. 

“ 0, there ’s no hope for them I They ’ll grow up and be 
just like their parents. I ’ve seen that sort of people all 
through and through. I don’t wish them any evil ; only I 
don’t want to have anything to do with them ! ” 

“ For my part,” said Nina, “I’m sorry for them. I won- 
der why the legislature, or somebody, don’t have schools, 
as they do up in New York State ? There is n’t anywhere 
there where children can’t go to school, if they wish to. 
Besides, aunt, these children really came from an old fam- 
ily in Virginia. Their old servant-man says that their 
mother was a Peyton.” 

“ I don’t believe a word of it ! They ’ll lie — all of them 
They always do.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, “ I shall do something for these chil- 
dren, at any rate.” 

“ I quite agree with you, Nina. It shows a very excel- 
lent spirit in you,” said Mr. Carson. “ You ’ll always find 
me ready to encourage everything of that sort.” 

Nina frowned, and looked indignant. But to no purpose. 
Mr. Carson went on remorselessly with his really good- 
hearted rattle, till Nina, at last, could bear it no longer. 

“ How dreadfully warm this room is ! ” said she, spring- 
ing up. “ Come, let ’s go back into the parlor.’ 

Nina was as much annoyed at Clayton’s silence, and his 
quiet, observant reserve, as with Carson’s forth-putting. 
Rising from table, she passed on before the company, with a 
half-flying trip, into the hall, which lay now cool, calm, 
and breezy, in the twilight, with the odor of the pillar-roses 
floating in at the window. The pale white moon, set in 
the rosy belt of the evening sky, looked in at the open door. 
Nina would have given all the world to be still ; but, well 
aware that stillness was out of the question, she deter- 
mined to select her own noise; and, sitting down at the 
piano, began playing very fast, in a rapid, restless, discon- 
nected manner. Clayton threw himself on a lounge by the 
open door; while Carson busied himself fluttering the 


154 


EXPLANATIONS. 


music, opening and shutting music-books, and interspers* 
ing running commentaries and notes of admiration on the 
playing. 

At last, as if she could bear it no longer, she rose, with a 
very decided air, from the piano, and, facing about towards 
Mr. Carson, said : 

“ It looks very beautifully out doors. Don't you want to 
come out ? There 's a point of view at the end of one of 
the paths, where the moon looks on the water, that I should 
like to show you." 

“ Won't you catch cold, Nina ? " said Aunt Nesbit. 

“ No, indeed ! I never catch cold," said Nina, springing 
into the porch, and taking the delighted Mr. Carson's arm. 
And away she went with him, with almost a skip and a 
jump, leaving Clayton tete-a-tete with Aunt Nesbit. 

Nina went so fast that her attendant was almost out of 
breath. They reached a little knoll, and there Nina stopped 
suddenly, and said, “ Look here, Mr. Carson ; I have some- 
thing to say to you." 

“ I should be delighted, my dear Nina ! I 'm perfectly 
charmed ! " 

“No — no — if you please — don’t!” said Nina, putting 
up her hand to stop him. “Just wait till you hear what I 
have to say. I believe you did not get a letter which I 
wrote you a few days ago, did you ? " 

“ A letter I no, indeed. How unfortunate ! " 

“ Very unfortunate for me ! " said Nina ; “ and for you, 
too. Because, if you had, it would have saved you and 
me the trouble of this interview. I wrote that letter to tell 
you, Mr. Carson, that I cannot think of such a thing as an 
engagement with you ! That I 've acted very wrong and 
very foolishly ; but that I cannot do it. In New York, 
where everybody and everything seemed to be trifling, and 
where the girls all trifled with these things, I was engaged 
— just for a frolic — nothing more. I had no idea what it 
would amount to ; no idea what I was saying, nor how*I 
should feel afterwards. But, every hour since I 've been 


EXPLANATIONS. 


155 


home, here, since I ’ve been so much alone, has made me 
feel how wrong it is. Now, I’m very sorry, I ’m sure. But 
I must speak the truth, this time. But it is — I can’t tell 
you how — disagreeable to me to have you treat me as you 
have since you Ve been here ! ” 

“Miss Gordon!” said Mr. Carson, “I am positively 
astonished I I — I don’t know what to think ! ” 

“ Well, I only want you to think that I am in earnest; 
and that, though I can like you very well as an acquaint- 
ance, and shall always wish you well, yet anything else is 
just as far out of the question as that moon there is from 
us. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I ’ve made you all 
this trouble. I really am,” said she, good-naturedly ; “but 
please now to understand how we stand.” She turned, 
and tripped away. 

“ There ! ” said she, to herself, “ at any rate, I ’ve done 
one thing ! ” 

Mr. Carson stood still, gradually recovering from the 
stupor into which this communication had thrown him. He 
stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, took out his watch and 
looked at it, and then began walking off with a very sober 
pace in the opposite direction from Nina. Happily-consti- 
tuted mortal that he was, nothing ever could be subtracted 
from his sum of complacence that could not be easily bal- 
anced by about a quarter of an hour’s consideration. The 
walk through the shrubbery in which he was engaged was 
an extremely pretty one, and wound along on the banks of 
the river through many picturesque points of view, and 
finally led again to the house by another approach. During 
the course of this walk Mr. Carson had settled the whole 
question for himself. In the first place, he repeated the 
comfortable old proverb, that there were as good fish in 
the sea as ever were caught. In the second place, as Mr. 
Carson was a shrewd business-man, it occurred to him, in 
this connection, that the plantation was rather run down, 
and not a profitable acquisition. And, in the third place, 
contemplating Nina as the Ihx of old did his bunch of sour 


156 


EXPLANATIONS. 


grapes, he began to remember that, after all, she was dressy, 
expensive, and extravagant. Then, as he did not want 
in that imperturbable good-nature which belongs to a very 
shallow capability of feeling, he said to himself that he 
should n’t like the girl a bit the less. In fact, when he 
thought of his own fine fortune, his house in New York, 
and all the accessories which went to make up himself, he 
considered her, on the whole, as an object of pity ; and, by 
the time that he ascended the balcony steps again, he was 
in as charitable and Christian a frame as any rejected suitor 
could desire. 

He entered the drawing-room. Aunt Nesbit had ordered 
candles, and was sitting up with her gloves on, alone. 
What had transpired during his walk, he did not know ; but 
we will take our readers into confidence. 

Nina returned to the house with the same decided air 
with which she went out, and awakened Mr. Clayton from a 
revery with a brisk little tap of her fan on his shoulder. 

“ Come up here with me,” she said, “ and look out of the 
library window, and see this moonlight.” 

And up she went, over the old oaken staircase, stopping 
on each landing ; and, beckoning to Clayton, with a whimsi- 
cally authoritative gesture, threw open the door of a large, 
black-wainscoted room, and ushered him in. The room lay 
just above the one where they had been sitting, and, like 
that, opened on to the veranda by long-sashed windows, 
through which, at the present moment, a flood of moonlight 
was pouring. A large mahogany writing-table, covered 
with papers, stood in the middle of the room, and the moon 
shone in so brightly that the pattern of the bronze inkstand, 
and the color of the wafers and sealing-wax, were plainly 
revealed. The window commanded a splendid view of the 
river over the distant tree-tops, as it lay shimmering and 
glittering in the moonlight. 

“ Is n’t that a beautiful sight ? ” said Nina, in a hurried 
voice. 

“ Very beautiful I ” said Clayton, sitting down in the large 


EXPLANATIONS. 


157 


lounging-chair before the window, and looking out with the 
abstracted air which was habitual with him. 

After a moment’s thought, Nina added, with a sudden 
effort, 

“ But, after all, that was not what I wanted to speak to 
you about. I wanted to see you somewhere, and say a few 
words which it seems to me it is due to you that I should 
say. I got your last letter, and I ’m sure I am very much 
obliged to your sister for all the kind things she says ; but I 
think you must have been astonished at what you have seen 
since you have been here.” 

“ Astonished at what ? ” said Clayton, quietly. 

“ At Mr. Carson’s manners towards me.” 

“ I have not been astonished at all,” replied Clayton, 
quietly. 

“ I think, at all events,” said Nina, “ I think it is no more 
than honorable that I should tell you exactly how things 
have stood. Mr. Carson has thought that he had a right to 
me and mine ; and I was so foolish as to give him reason to 
think so. The fact is, that I have been making a game of 
life, and saying and doing anything and everything that 
came into my head, just for frolic. It don’t seem to me 
that there has been anything serious or real about me, until 
very lately. Somehow, my acquaintance with you has 
made things seem more real to me than they ever did before ; 
and it seems to me now perfectly incredible, the way we 
girls used to play and trifle with everything in the world. 
Just for sport, I was engaged to that man ; just for sport, 
too, I have been engaged to another one.” 

“And,” said Clayton, breaking the silence, “just for 
sport, have you been engaged to me ? ” 

“ No,” said Nina, after a few moments’ silence, “not in 
sport, certainly ; but, yet, not enough in earnest. I think 
I am about half waked up. I don’t know myself. I don’t 
know where or what I am, and I want to go back into that 
thoughtless di’eam. I do really think it ’s too hard to take 
up the responsibility of living in good earnest. Now, it 
14 


158 


EXPLANATIONS. 


seems to me just this, — that I cannot be bound to anybody. 
I want to be free. I have positively broken all connection 
with Mr. Carson ; I have broken with another one, and I 
wish — ” 

“ To break with me ? ” said Clayton. 

“ I don’t really know as I can say what I do wish. It is 
a very different thing from any of the others, but there ’s a 
feeling of dread, and responsibility, and constraint, about it ; 
and, though I think I should feel very lonesome now with- 
out you, and though I like to get your letters, yet it seems 
to me that I cannot be engaged, — that is a most dreadful 
feeling to me.” 

“My dear friend,” said Clayton, “if that is all, make 
yourself easy. There ’s no occasion for our being engaged. 
If you can enjoy being with me and writing to me, why, do 
it in the freest way, and to-morrow shall take care for the 
things of itself. You shall say what you please, do what 
you please, write when you please, andiiot write when you 
please, and have as many or as few letters as you like 
There can be no true love without liberty.” 

“ 0, I ’m sure I ’m much obliged to you 1 ” said Nina, 
with a sigh of relief. “And, now, do you know, I like your 
sister’s postscript very much, but I can’t tell what it is in 
it ; for the language is as kind as can be, that would give 
me the impression that she is one of those very proper kind 
of people, that would be dreadfully shocked if she knew of 
all my goings on in New York.” 

Clayton could hardly help laughing at the instinctive 
sagacity of this remark. 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said he, “where you could 
nave seen that, — in so short a postscript, too.” 

“ Do you know, I never take anybody’s hand-writing into 
my hand, that I don’t feel an idea of them come over me, 
ju't as you have when you see people ? And that idea came 
C7er me when I read your sister’s letter.” 

“ Well, Nina, to tell you the truth, sister Anne is a little 
bit conventional — a little set in her ways ; but, after all, a 


EXPLANATIONS. 


159 


large-hearted, warm-hearted woman. You would like each 
other, I know.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” said Nina. “ I am very apt 
to shock proper people. Somehow or other, they have a 
faculty of making me contrary.” 

4 ‘ Well, but, you see, Anne is n’t merely a conventional 
person ; there ’s only the slightest crust of conventionality, 
and a real warm heart under it.” 

“Whereas,” said Nina, “ most conventional people are 
like a shallow river, frozen to the bottom. But, now, really, 
I should like very much to have your sister come and visit 
us, if I could think that she would come as any other friend ; 
but, you know, it is n’t very agreeable to have anybody 
come to look one over to see if one will do.” 

Clayton laughed at the naive, undisguised frankness of 
this speech. 

“ You see,” said Nina, “though I ’m nothing but an ig- 
norant school-girl, I ’m as proud as if I had everything to 
be proud of. Now, do you know, I don’t much like writing 
to. your sister, because I don’t think I write very good let- 
ters ! I never could sit still long enough to write.” 

“ Write exactly as you talk,” said Clayton. “ Say just 
what comes into your head, just as you would talk it. I 
hope you will do that much, for it will be very dull writing 
all on one side.” 

“Well,” said Nina, rising, with animation, “now, Mr. 
Edward Clayton, if we have settled about this moonlight, 
we may as well go down into the parlor, where Aunt Nesbit 
and Mr. Carson are tete-a-tete.” 

“ Poor Carson 1 ” said Clayton. 

“ 0, don’t pity him 1 Good soul ! he ’s a man that one 
night’s rest would bring round from anything in creation. 
He ’s so thoroughly good-natured ! Besides, 1 shall like 
him better, now. ne did not use to seem to me so intrusive 
and disagreeable. We girls used to like him very well, he 
was such a comfortable, easy-tempered, agreeable creature, 
tl<vays brisk and in spirits, and knowing everything that 


160 


EXPLANATIONS. 


went on. But he is one of those men that I think would be 
really insufferable, if anything serious were the matter with 
one. Now, you heard how he talked, coming from that 
funeral ! Do you know, that if he had been coming from 
my funeral, it would have been just so ? ” 

“ 0, no, not quite so bad,” said Clayton. 

“ Indeed he is,” said Nina. “ That man ! why, he just puts 
me in mind of one of these brisk blue-flies, whirring and 
w':isking about, marching over pages of books, and alight- 
ing on all sorts of things. When he puts on that grave 
look, and begins to talk about serious things, he actually 
Iooas to me just as a fly does when he stands brushing his 
wings on a Bible ! But, come, let 's go down to the good 
soul.” 

Down they went, and Nina seemed like a person enfran- 
chised. Never had she seemed more universally gracious. 
She was chatty and conversable with Carson, and sang over 
for him all her old opera-songs, with the better grace that 
she saw that Clayton was listening intently. 

As they were sitting and conversing together, the sound 
of horse's heels was heard coming up the avenue. 

“Who can that be, this time of night?” said Nina, 
springing to the door, and looking out. 

She saw Harry hastening in advance to meet her, and 
ran down the veranda steps to speak to him. 

“ Harry, who is coming ? ” 

“ Miss Nina, v it ’s Master Tom,” said Harry, in a low 
voice. 

“ Tom ! 0, mercy ! ” said Nina, in a voice of apprehen- 
sion. “ What sent him here, now ? ” 

“ What sends him anywhere ? ” said Harry. 

Nina reascended the steps, and stood looking apprehen- 
sively towards the horseman, who approached every moment 
nearer. Harry came up on the veranda, and stood a little 
behind her. In a few moments the horse was up before tae 
steps. 


EXPLANATIONS. 


1C1 


“ Hallo, there 1 ” said the rider. “ Come, take my horse, 
you j-ascal ! ” 

Harry remained perfectly still, put his arms by his side, 
and stood with a frowning expression on his forehead. 

lt Don't you hear ? " said the horseman, throwing himself 
off, with an oath. " Come here, boy, and take my horse I ” 
“ Fcr pity's sake," said Nina, turning and looking in Har- 
ry's face, “ don't have a scene here ! Do take his horse, 
quicx ! Anything to keep him quiet i " 

With a sudden start, Harry went down the steps, and 
took the bridle from the hand of the newly-arrived in silence. 
The horseman sprang up the steps 

“ Hallo, Nin, is this you?" And Nina felt herself 
roughlv seized in the arms o*' a snaggy great-coat, and 
kissed by dps smelling of brandy and tobacco. She faintly 
said, as she disenga fe od ’< er^el^ 

“ Tom, is it you ? " 

“ Yes, to be sure ! Who did you think it was ? Devilish 
glad to see me, an't you ? Suppose you was in hopes I 
would n't come ! " 

“ Hush, Tom, do 1 I am glad to see you. There are 
gentlemen in there ; don't speak so loud ! " 

“ Some of your beaux, hey ? Well, I am as good a fel- 
low as any of 'em I Free country, I hope ! No, I an't go- 
ing to whisper, for any of them. So now, Nin — If there 
is n't old Starchy, to be sure ! " said he, as Aunt Nesbit 
came to the door. “ Hallo, old girl, how are you ? " 

11 Thomas 1 " said Mrs. Nesbit, softly, “ Thomas 1 ” 

“ None of your Thomasing me, you old pussy-cat ! Don't 
you be telling me, neither, to hush I I won't hush, neither ! 
I know what I am about, I guess ! It 's my house, as much 
as it is Nin's, and I 'm going to do as I have a mind to 
here 1 I an't going to have my mouth shut on account of 
her beaux ! So, clear out, I tell you, and let me come in I ” 
and Aunt Nesbit gave back. He pushed his way into the 
apartment. 

He was a young man, about twenty-five years old, who 
14* 


162 


EXPLANATIONS. 


evidently had once possessed advantages of face and figure ; 
but every outline in the face was bloated and rendered un- 
meaning by habits of constant intemperance. His dark 
eyes had that muddy and troubled expression which in a 
young man too surely indicates the habitual consciousness 
of inward impurity. His broad, high forehead was flushed 
and pimpled, his lips swollen and tumid, and his whole air 
and manner gave painful evidence that he was at present 
too far under the influence of stimulus justly to apprehend 
what he was about. 

Nina followed him, and Clayton was absolutely shocked 
at the ghastly paleness of her face. She made an uncertain 
motion towards him, as if she would have gone to him for 
protection. Clayton rose ; Carson, also ; and all stood for a 
moment in silent embarrassment. 

“ Well, this is a pretty business, to be sure ! Nina,” 
said he, turning to her, with a tremendous oath, “why 
don't you introduce me ? Pretty way to meet a brother you 
have n't seen for three or four years ! You act as if you 
were ashamed of me ! Confound it all ! introduce me, I 
say ! ” 

“ Tom, don't speak so ! ” said Nina, laying her hand on his 
arm, in a soothing tone. “ This gentleman is Mr. Clayton ; 
and, Mr. Clayton,” she said, lifting her eyes to him, and 
speaking in a trembling voice, “ this is my brother.” 

Mr. Clayton offered his hand, with the ordinary expres- 
sions of civility. 

“ Mr. Carson,” said Nina, “ my brother.” 

There was something inexpressibly touching and affect- 
ing in the manner in which this was said. One other person 
noticed it. Harry, who had given the horses to the ser- 
vants, stood leaning against the doorway, looking on. A 
fiery gleam, like that of a steel blade, seemed tc shoot from 
his blue eyes ; and each time that Nina said “ my brother,” 
he drew in his breath, as one who seeks to restrain himself 
in seme violent inward emotion. 

" I suppose you don't any of you want to see me much,” 


EXPLANATIONS. 


163 


said the new-comer, taking a chair, and sitting down dog- 
gedly in the centre of the group, with bis hat on his head. 
“ Well, I have as good a right as anybody to be here ! ” he 
continued, spitting a quid of tobacco at Aunt Nesbit’s feet. 
“ For my part, I think relations ought to have natural affec- 
tion, and be glad to see one another. Well, now, you can 
see, gentlemen, with your own eyes, just how it is here ! 
There ’s my sister, there. You better believe me, she has n’t 
seen me for three years ! Instead of appearing glad, or any- 
thing, there she sits, all curled up in a corner ! Won’t come 
near me, more than if I had the plague I Come here, now, 
you little kit, and sit in my lap ! ” 

He made a movement to pull Nina towards him, which 
she resisted with an air of terror, looking at her aunt, who, 
more terrified still, sat with her feet drawn up on the sofa, 
as if he had been a mad dog. There was reason enough 
for the terror which seemed to possess them both. Both 
had too vivid recollections of furious domestic hurricanes 
that had swept over the family when Tom Gordon came 
home. Nina remembered the storms of oaths and curses 
that had terrified her when a child ; the times that she had 
seen her father looking like death, leaning his head on his 
hand, and sighing as only those sigh who have an only son 
worse than dead. 

It is no wonder, therefore, that Nina, generally courage- 
ous and fearless as she was, should have become fearful and 
embarrassed at his sudden return. 

“Tom,” she said, softly, coming up to him, “you 
have n’t been to supper. Had n’t you better come out ? ” 
“No you don’t ! ” said he, catching her round the waist, 
and drawing her on his knee. “ You won’t get me out of 
the room, now ! I know what I am about ! Tell me,” 
continued he, still holding her on his knee, “ which of them 
is it, Nin ? — which is the favored one ? ” 

Clayton rose and went out on the veranda, and Mr. Car- 
son asked Harry to show him into his room. 

“ Hallo ! shelling out there, are they ? Well, Nin, to tell 


164 


EXPLANATIONS. 


the truth, I am deuced hungry. For my part, I don’t see 
what the thunder keeps my Jim out so long. I sent him 
across to the post-office. He ought to have been back cer- 
tainly as soon as I was. 0, here he comes ! Hallo ! you 
dog, there ! ” said he, going to the door, where a very black 
negro was dismounting. “ Any letters ? ” 

“ No, mas’r. I spect de mails have gin up. Der an’t 
been no letters dere, for no one, for a month. It is some 
’quatic disorganization of dese yer creeks, I s’pose. So de 
letter-bags goes anywhere ’cept der right place.” 

“ Confound it all 1 I say, you Nin,” turning round, 
“ why don’t you offer a fellow some supper ? Coming home, 
here, in my own father’s house, everybody acts as if they 
were scared to death ! No supper ! ” 

“ Why, Tom, I ’ve been asking you, these three or four 
times.” 

“ Bless us ! ” said Jim, whispering to Harry. “ De mis- 
chief is, he an’t more than half-primed ! Tell her to give 
him a little more brandy, and after a little we will get him 
into bed as easy as can be ! ” 

And the event proved so ; for, on sitting down to supper, 
Tom Gordon passed regularly through all the stages of 
drunkenness ; became as outrageously affectionate as he 
had been before surly, kissed Nina and Aunt Nesbit, cried 
over his sins and confessed his iniquities, laughed and 
cried feebly, till at last he sank in his chair asleep. 

“ Dar, he is done for, now ! ” said Jim, who had been 
watching the gradual process. “ Now, just you and I, let ’s 
tote him off,” said he to Harry. 

Nina, on her part, retired to a troubled pillow. She fore- 
saw nothing before her but mortification and embarrass- 
ment, and realized more than ever the peculiar loneliness of 
her situation. 

For all purposes of consultation and aid, Aunt Nesbit 
vas nobody in her esteem, and Nina was always excited 
<*nd vexed by e^ery new attempt that she made to confide 
m h-r 


EXPLANATIONS. 


165 


“ Now, to-morrow,” she said to herself, as she lay down, 
“no one knows what will turn up. He will go round 
as usral, interfering with everything -- threatening and 
frightening my servants, and getting up some difficulty 
or other with Harry Dear me ! it seems to me life is com- 
ing over me hard enough, and all at once, too ! ” 

As Nina said this, she saw some one standing by her bed. 
It was Milly, who stooped tenderly over her, smoothing and 
arranging the bed-clothes in a motherly way. 

“ Is that you, Milly ? 0, sit down here a minute 1 I am 

so troubled ! It seems to me I ’ve had so much trouble to- 
day 1 Do you know Tom can e home to-night so drunk ! 0, 
dear Milly, it was horrid ! Do you know he took me in his 
arms and kissed me ; and, though he is my only brother, it ’s 
perfectly dreadful to ne ! And I feel so worried, and so 
anxious ! ” 

“ Yes, lamb, I knows all about dese yer things,” said 
Milly. “ 1 7 s seen him many and many times.” 

“ The worst of it is,” said Nina, “ that I don’t know what 
he will do to-morrow — and before Mi. Clayton, too! It 
makes me feel so helpless, ashamed, and mortifies me so ! ” 
“ Yes, yes, chile,” said Milly, gently stroking her head. 
“ I stand so much alone ! ” said Nina. “ Other girls have 
some friend or relation to lean on ; but I have nobody ! ” 
“Why don’t you ask your Father to help you?” said 
Milly to Nina, in a gentle tone. 

“Ask who?” said Nina, lifting up her head from the 
pillow. „ 

“ Your Father ! ” said Milly, with a voice of solemnity. 
“ Don’t you know 1 Our Father who art in Heaven ’ ? You 
have n’t forgot your prayers, I hope, honey.” 

Nina looked at her with surprise. And Milly continued, 
“ Now, if I was you, lamb, I would tell my Father all about 
it. Why, chile, He loves you ! He would n’t like nothing 
better, now, than to have you just come to Him and tell Him 
all about your troubles, and He ’ll make ’em all straight. 


166 


EXPLANATIONS. 


That's the way I does ; and I's found it come out rig^, 
many and many a time." 

“ Why, Milly, you would n't have me go to God about 
my little foolish affairs ?" 

“ Laws, chile, what should you go to Him 'bout, den ? 
Sure dese are all de 'fairs you 's got." 

“Well, but, Milly," said Nina, apprehensively, “you 
know I 've been a very bad girl about religion. It 's year* 
and years since I 've said any prayers. At school, the girls 
used to laugh at anybody who said prayers ; and so I never 
did. And, since I 've neglected my heavenly Father when 
things went well with me, it would n't be fair to call on 
Him now, just because I 've got into trouble. I don't think 
it would be honorable." 

“ De Lord bless dis yer chile 1 Do hear her talk ! Just 
as if de heavenly Father did n’t know all about you, and 
had n't been a loving and watching you de whole time ! 
Why, chile, He knows what poor foolish creatures we be ; 
and He an't noways surprised, nor put out. Why, laws, 
don't you know ne 's de good shepherd ? And what you 
suppose dey has shepherds fur, 'cept de sheeps are all de 
time running away, and getting into trouble ? Why, honey, 
dat 's what dey ' sfur ." 

“ Well, but it is so long since I prayed, that I don’t know 
anything how to pray, Milly." 

“ Bless you, chile, who wanted you to pray ? I never 
prays myself. Used to try, but I made such drefful poor 
work on it that I gin it up. Now, I just goes and talks to 
de Father, and tells Him anything and everything ; and I 
think He likes it a great deal better. Why, He is just as 
willing to hear me now, as if I was the greatest lady in the 
land. And He takes such an interest in all my poor 'fairs ! 
Why, sometimes I go to Him when my heart is so heavy ; 
and, when I tells Him all about it, I comes away as light as 
a feather ! " 

“ Well, but, after I 've forgotten nim so many years 1 " 

“ Why, honey, now just look yere I I 'member once, when 


EXPLi NATIONS. 


167 


you wg-8 a little weety tmng, that you toddles down dem 
steps dere, and you slips away from dem dat was watching 
you, and you toddlee away off into de grove, yonder, and 
dere you got picking flowers, and one thing and another, 
mighty tickled and peart. You was down dere 'joying 
yourself, till, by and by, your pa missed you ; and den such 
another hunt as dere was ! Dere was a hurrying here, 
and a looking dere ; and finally your pa run down in the 
woods, and dere you 'd got stuck fast in de mud I both 
your shoes off, and well scratched with briers ; and dere 
you stood a crying, and calling your pa. I tell you he said 
dat ar was de sweetest music he ever heard in his life. I 
'member he picked you up, and came up to de house kiss- 
ing you. Now, dere 'twas, honey 1 You didn't call on 
your pa till you got into trouble. And laws, laws, chile, 
dat's de way with us all. We never does call on de 
Father till we gets into trouble ; and it takes heaps and 
heaps of trouble, sometimes, to bring us round. Some 
time, chile, I '11 tell you my sperence. I 's got a sperence 
on this point. But, now, honey, don't trouble vourself no 
more ; but just ask your Father to take care of your 'fairs, 
and turn over and go to sleep. And He '11 do it. Now 
you mind." 

So saying, Milly smoothed the pillow with anxious care, 
and, kissing Nina on the forehead, departed. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


TOM GORDON. 

" I say, Nina/ 1 ' said her brother, coming in, a day or two 
after, from a survey that he had been taking round the 
premises, "you want me here to manage this place. Every- 
thing going at sixes and sevens ; and that nigger of a Harry 
riding round with his boots shining. That fellow cheats 
you, and feathers his own nest well. I know ! These white 
niggers are all deceitful.” 

" Come, Tom, you know the estate is managed just as 
father left word to have it ; and Uncle John says that Harry 
is an excellent manager. I ’m sure nobody could have been 
more faithful to me ; and I am very well satisfied.” 

" Yes, I dare say. All left to you and the executors, as 
you call them ; as if I were not the natural guardian of my 
sister ! Then I come here to put up with that fellow’s im- 
pudence ! ” 

"Whose? — Harry’s? He is never impudent. He is 
always gentlemanly. Everybody remarks it.” 

" Gentlemanly ! There it is, Niij ! What a fool you are 
to encourage the use of that word in connection with any 
of your niggers! Gentleman, forsooth! And while he plays 
gentleman, who takes care ? I tell you what, you ’ll find 
one of these days, how thing*: are going on. But that ’s 
just the way! You neve.: 7/Q'flId I‘:ten to me, or pay the 
Past attention to my advice.” 

" 0, Tom, don’t talk about that — don’t ! I never inter- 
file about ycur affairs. Please lea re me the right to 
nonage mine in my own way.” 


TOM GORDON. 


169 


** And who is this Clayton that 's hanging about here ? 
Are you going to have him, or he you — hey ? " 

'* I don't know," said Nina. 

“ Because I, for one, don't like him r and I shan't give 
my consent to let him have you. That other one is worth 
twice as much. lie has one of the largest properties in 
New York. Joe Snider has told me about him. You shall 
have him." 

“ I shall not have him, say what you please ; and I shall 
have Mr. Clayton, if I choose I " said Nina, with a height- 
ened color. “ You have no right to dictate to me of my 
own affairs ; and I shan't submit to it, I tell you frankly." 

“ Highty-tighty ! We are coming up, to be sure ! " said 
Tom. 

11 Moreover," said Nina, “ I wish you to let everything 
on this place entirely alone ; and remember that my ser- 
vants are not your servants, and that you have no control 
over them, whatever." 

11 Well, we will see how you '11 help yourself 1 I am not 
going to go skulking about on my father's own place as if I 
had no right or title there ; and if your niggers don't look 
sharp, they '11 find out whether I am the master here or not, 
especially that Harry. If the dog dare so much as to lift 
his fingers to countermand any one of my orders, I 'd put 
a bullet through his head as soon as I would through a 
buck's. I give you warning ! " 

“ 0, Tom, pray don't talk so 1 '' said Nina, who really 
began to be alarmed. “ What do you want to make me 
such trouble, for ? " 

The conversation was here suspended by the entrance of 
Milly. 

“ If you please, Miss Nina, come and show me which 
of your muslins you wish to be done up, as I 's starching 
for Miss Loo." 

Glad of an opportunity to turn the conversation, Nina 
ran up to her room, whither sne was followed by Milly, 
who shut the door, and spoKe to her in mysterious tones. 

L5 


170 


TOM GORDON. 


“ Miss Nina, can’t you make some errand to get Harry 
off the place for two or three days, while Mas’r Tom ’s 
round ? ” 

“ But what right,” said Nina, with heightened color, 
“has he to dictate to my servants, or me? or to interfere 
with any of our arrangements here ? ” 

“ 0, dere ’s no use talking about rights, honey. We must 
all do jest what we ken. Don’t make much odds whether 
our rights is one way or t’other. You see, chile, it’s just 
here. Harry ’s your right hand. But you see he an’t learnt 
to bend ’fore the wind, like the rest of us. He is spirity ; 
he is just as full now as a powder-box ; and Mas’r Tom is 
bent on aggravating him. And, laws, chile, dere may be 
bloody work — dere may sol” 

“ Why, do you think he ’d dare — ” 

“ Chile, don’t talk to me ! Dare ! — yes ; sure ’nough ho 
will dare ! Besides, dere ’s fifty ways young gentlemen 
may take to aggravate and provoke. And, when flesh and 
blood can’t bear it no longer, if Harry raises his hand, why, 
den shoot him down I Nothing said — nothing done. You 
can’t help yourself. You won’t want to have a law-suit 
with your own brother ; and, if you did, ’t would n’t bring 
Harry to life ! Laws, chile, ef I could tell you what I ’ve 
seen — you don’t know nothing ’bout it. Now, I tell you, 
get up some message to your uncle’s plantation ; send him 
off for anything or nothing ; only have him gone ! And 
then speak your brother fair, and then may be he will go 
off. But don’t you quarrel ! don’t you cross him, come 
what may I Dere an’t a soul on the place that can bar de 
sight on him. But, then, you see the rest dey all bends l 
But, chile, you must be quick about it ! Let me go right 
off and find him. J ust you come in the little back room, 
and I ’ll call him in.” 

Pale and trembling, Nina descended into the room ; and, 
in a few moments after, Milly appeared, followed by Harry. 
“ Harry I ” said Nina, in a trem cling voice, “ I want yor 


TOM GORDON. 


m 

to take your horse and go over to Uncle John's plantation, 
and carry a note for me." 

Harry stood with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon 
the ground, and Nina continued, 

“ And, Harry, I think you had better make some business 
or errand to keep you away two or three days, or a week." 

“ Miss Nina," said Harry, “the affairs of the place are 
very pressing now, and need overlooking. A few days' 
neglect now may produce a great loss, and then it will be 
said that I neglected my business to idle and ride round the 
country." 

“ Well, but, if I send you, I take the responsibility, and 
I '11 bear the loss. The fact is, Harry, I 'm afraid that you 
won't have patience to be here, now Tom is at home. In 
fact, Harry, I 'm afraid for your life ! And now, if you have 
any regard for me, make the best arrangement with the work 
you can, and be off. I '11 tell him that I sent you on business 
of my own, and I am going to write a letter for you to carry 
It 's the only safe way. He has so many ways in which he 
can provoke and insult you, that, at last, you may say o^ do 
something that will give him occasion against you ; and I 
think he is determined to drive you to this." 

“Isn't this provoking, now? isn't this outrageous?" 
said Harry, between his teeth, looking down, “ that every- 
thing must be left, and all because I have n't the nght to 
stand up like a man, and protect you and yours ! " 

“ It is a pity ! it is a shame ! " said Nina. “ But, Harry, 
don't stop to think upon it ; do go ! " She laid he*- hand 
softly on his. “ For my sake, iow, be good — be good ! " 
The room where they were standing had long windows, 
which opened, like those of the parlor, on the veranda, and 
commanded a view of a gravel-walk bordered with shrub- 
bery. As Harry stood, hesitating, he started at seeing Li- 
sette come tripping up the walk, balancing on hei head a 
basket of newly-ironed muslins and linens Her trim httle 
figure was displayed in a close-fitting gown of blue, a sno^y 
handkerchief crossed upon her bust, and one rounded arm 


TOM GORDON. 


in 

rais3* steady the basket upon her head. She came trip- 
ping forward, with her usual airy motion, humming a portion 
of a song ; and attracted, at the same moment, the attention 
t f Tom Gordon and of her husband. 

“'Pon my word, if that isn’t the prettiest concern ! ” 
?aid Tom, as he started up and ran down the walk to meet 
her. 

“ Good-morning, my pretty girl ! ” he said. 

“ Good-morning, sir,” returned Lisette, in hei usual tone 
of gay cheerfulness. 

“ Pray, who do you belong to, my pretty little puss ? I 
think I ’ve never seen you on this place.” 

“ Please, sir, I ’m Harry’s wife.” 

“ Indeed I you are, hey ? Devilish good taste he has ! ” 
said he, laying his hand familiarly on her shoulder. 

The shoulder was pulled away, and Lisette moved rapidly 
on to the other side of the path, with an air of vexation which 
made her look rather prettier. 

“ What, my dear, don’t you know that I am your hus- 
band’s young master? Come, come ! ” he said, following 
her, and endeavoring to take hold of her arm. 

“ Please let me alone ! ’ said Lisette, coloring, and in a 
petted, -vexed tone. 

“ Let you alone ? No, mat I shan’t, not while you ask it 
in such a pretty way as that ! ” And again the hand was 
laid upon her shoulder. 

It must be understood that Harry had witnessed so far, 
in pantomime, this scene He had stood with compressed 
lips, and eyes slowly dilating, looking at it. Nina, who 
was standing with her back to the window, wondered at the 
expression of his countenance. 

“Look there, Miss Nina!” he said. “Do you see my 
wife and your brother ? ” 

Nina turned, and in an instant the color mounted to her 
cheeks ; her little fo-m seemed to dilate, and her eyes 
flashed fire ; and before Harry could see what she was doing, 


TOM GORDON. 


173 


she was down in the gravel-walk, and had taken Lisette's 
hand. 

“ Tom Gordon,” she said, “ I 'm ashamed of you ! Hush ! 
hush ! ” she continued, fixing her eyes on him, and stamp- 
ing her foot. “ Dare to come to my place, and take such 
liberties here I You shall not be allowed to while I am 
mistress ; and I am mistress ! Dare to lay a finger on this 
girl while she is here under my protection ! Come, Li- 
sette ! ” And she seized the trembling girl by the hand, and 
drew her along towards the house. 

Tom Gordon was so utterly confused at this sudden burst 
of passion in his sister, that he let them go off without oppo- 
sition. In a few moments he looked after her, and gave a 
long, low whistle. 

“ Ah ! Pretty well up for her ! But she 'll find it 's easier 
said than done, I fancy ! '' And he sauntered up to the 
veranda, where Harry stood with his arms folded, and the 
veins in his forehead swelling with repressed emotion. 

“Go in, Liseite,” said Nina ; “ take the things into my 
room, and I 'll come to you.” 

“ 'Pon my word, Harry,” said Tom, coming up, and 
addressing Harry in the most insulting tone, “ we are all 
under the greatest obligations to you for bringing such a 
pretty little fancy article here ! ” 

“ My wife does not belong to this place,” said Harry, 
forcing himself to speak calmly. “ She belongs to a Mrs. 
Le Clere, who has come into Belleville plantation.” 

“ Ah ! thank you for the information ! I may take a fancy 
to buy her, and I 'd like to know who she belongs to. I 've 
been wanting a pretty little concern of that sort. She 's a 
good housekeeper, is n't she, Harry ? Does up shirts well ? 
What do you suppose she could be got for ? I must go and 
see her mistress.” 

During this cruel harangue Harry's hands twitched and 
quivered, and he started every now and then, looking first 
at Nina, and then at his tormentor. He turned deadly 
pale ; even his lips were of ashy whiteness ; ard, with his 
15 * 


174 


TOM GORDON. 


arms still folded, and making no reply, he fixed his large 
blue eyes upon Tom, and, as it sometimes happened in mo- 
ments of excitement and elevation, there appeared on the 
rigid lines of his face, at that moment, so strong a resem- 
blance to Col. Gordon, that Nina noticed and was startled 
by it. Tom Gordon noticed it also. It added fuel to the 
bitterness of his wrath ; and there glared from his eyes a 
malignancy of hatred that was perfectly appalling. The t 
two brothers seemed like thunder-clouds opposing each 
other, and ready to dart lightning. Nina hastened to inter 
fere. 

“ Hurry, hurry, Harry ! 1 want that message carried. 

Do, pray, go directly ! ” 

“ Let me see,” said Tom, “ I must call Jim, and have my 
horse. Which is the way to that Belleville plantation ? I 
think I T1 ride over there.” And he turned and walked 
indolently down the steps. 

“ For shame, Tom ! you won't ! you can't ! How can 
you want to trouble me so ? ” said Nina. 

He turned and looked upon her with an evil smile, turned 
again, and was gone. 

“ Harry, Harry, go quick ! Don't you worry ; there 's 
no danger I ” she added, in a lower voice. “ Madam Le 
Clere never would consent.” 

“ There 's no knowing ! ” said Harry, tx never any know- 
ing ! People act about money as they do about nothing 
else.” 

“ Then — then I '11 send and buy her myself! ” said Nina. 

“ You don't know how our affairs stand, Miss Nina,” said 
Harry, hurriedly. “ The money could n't be raised now for 
it, especially if I have to go off this week. It will make a 
great difference, my being here or not being here ; and very 
likely Master Tom may have a thousand dollars to pay down 
on the spot. I never knew him to want money when his 
will was up. Great God 1 have n't I borne this yoke long 
enough ? ” 

" Well, Harry,” said Nina, “ I '11 sell everything I 've got 


TOM GORDON. 


175 


— my jewels - -everything ! I ’ll mortgage the plantation, 
before Tom Gordon shall do this thing I I ’m not quite so 
selfish as i ’v& always seemed to be. I know you ’ve made 
the sacrifice of body and soul to my interest ; and I ’ve always 
taken it, because I loved my ease, and was a spoiled child. 
But, after all, I know I ’ve as much energy as Tom has, 
when I am roused, and I ’ll go over this very morning and 
make an offer for her. Only you be off. You can’t stand 
such provocation as you get here ; and if you yield, as any 
man will do, at last, then everything and everybody will go 
against you, and I can’t protect you. Trust to me. I ’m 
not so much of a child as I have seemed to be I You ’ll 
find I can act for myself, and you too ! There comes Mr. 
Clayton through the shrubbery — that ’s right ! Order two 
horses round to the door immediately, and we ’ll go over 
there this morning.” 

Nina gave her orders with a dignity as if she had been a 
princess, and in all his agitation Harry could not help mar- 
velling at the sudden air of womanliness which had come 
over her. 

“ I could serve you” he said, in a low voice, “ to the last 
drop of my blood ! But,” he added, in a tone which made 
Nina tremble, “ I hate everybody else 1 I hate your coun- 
try ! I hate your laws ! ” 

“Harry,” said Nina, “you do wrong — you forget your- 
self!” 

“0, I do wrong, do I ? We are the people that are never 
to do wrong! People may stick pins in us, and stick 
knives in us, wipe their shoes on us, spit in our face — we 
must be amiable ! we must be models of Christian patience ! 
I tell you, your father should rather have put me into quar- 
ters and made me work like a field-negro, than to have given 
me the education he did, and leave me under the foot of 
every white man that dares tread on me ! ” 

Nina remembered to have seen her father in transports of 
passion, and was again shocked and startled to see the 


176 


TOM GORDON. 


resemblance between his face and the convulsed face before 
her. 

“ Harry,” she said, in a pitying, half-admonitory tone, 
“ do think what you are saying I If you love me, be 
quiet ! ” 

“ Love you ? You have always held my neart in your 
hand ! That has been the clasp upon my chain ! If it 
had n’t been for you, I should have fought my way to the 
north before now, or I would have found a grave on the 
road ! ” 

“ Well, Harry,” said Nina, after a moment’s thought, 
“ my love shall not be a clasp upon any chain ; for, as there 
is a God in heaven, I will set you free ! I ’ll have a bill 
introduced at the very next legislature, and I know what 
friend will see to it. So go, now, Harry, go ! ” 

Harry stood a moment, then suddenly raised the hand of 
his little mistress to his lips, turned, and was gone. 

Clayton, who had been passing through the shrubbery, 
and who had remarked that Nina was engaged in a very 
exciting conversation, had drawn off, and stood waiting for 
her at the foot of the veranda steps. As soon as Nina saw 
him, she reached out her hand frankly, saying, 

“ 0, there, Mr. Clayton, you are just the person ! 
Would n’t you like to take a ride with me ? ” 

“ Of course I should, ” said he. 

“ Wait here a -moment,” said she, “ till I get ready. The 
horses will be here immediately.” And, running up the 
steps, she passed quickly by him, and went into the house. 

Clayton had felt himself in circumstances of considerable 
embarrassment ever since the arrival of Tom Gordon, the 
evening before.. He had perceived that the young man had 
conceived an instinctive dislike of himself, which he was at 
no particular pains to conceal ; and he had found it difficult 
to preserve the appearance of one who does not notice. He 
did not wish to intrude upon Nina any embarrassing recog- 
nition of her situation, even under the guise of sympathy 
and assistance ; and waited, therefore, till some word from 


TOM GORDON. 


177 


ter should authorize him to speak. He held himself, there- 
fore, ready to meet any confidence which she might feel dis- 
posed to place in him ; not doubting, from the frankness of 
her nature, that she would soon find it impossible not to 
speak of what was so deeply interesting to her. 

Nina soon reappeared, and, mounting their horses, they 
found themselves riding through the same forest-road that 
led to the cottage of Tiff, from which a divergent path went 
to the Belleville plantation. 

11 1 'm glad to see you alone this morning, for many 
reasons, '' said Nina ; “ for I think I never needed a friend's 
help more. I 'm mortified that you should have seen what 
you did last night; but, since you have, I may as well 
speak of it. The fact is, that my brother, though he 
is the only one I have, never did treat me as if he loved 
me. I can't tell what the reason is: whether he was jeal- 
ous of my poor father's love for me, or whether it was be- 
cause I was a wilful, spoiled girl, and so gave him reason 
to be set against me, or whatever the reason might be, — he 
never has been kind to me long at a time. Perhaps he 
would be, if I would always do exactly as he says ; but I 
am made as positive and wilful as he is. 1 never have been 
controlled, and I can't recognize the right which he seems to 
assume to control me, and to dictate as to my own private 
affairs. He was not left my guardian ; and, though I do 
love him, I shan't certainly take him as one. Now, you see, 
he has a bitter hatred, and a most unreasonable one, towards 
ny Harry ; and I had no idea, when I came home, in how 
many ways he had the power to annoy me. It does seem 
as if an evil spirit possessed them both when they get to- 
gether ; they seem as full of electricity as they can be, and 
I am every instant afraid of an explosion. Unfortunately 
for Harry, he has had a much superior education to the gen- 
erality of his class and station, and the situation of trust in 
which he has been placed has given him more the feelings 
of a free man and a gentleman than is usual ; for, except 
Tom, there is n't one of our family circle that has n't always 


TOM GORDON. 


ITS 

treated him with kindness, and even with deference — 

I think this very thing angers Tom the more, and makes him 
take every possible occasion of provoking and vexing. I 
believe it is his intention to push Harry up to some des- 
perate action ; and, when I see how frightfully they look at 
each other, I tremble for the consequences. Harry has 
lately married a very pretty wife, with whom he lives in a 
little cottage on the extremity of the Belleville estate ; and 
this morning Tom happened to spy her, and it seemed to 
inspire him with a most ingenious plan to trouble Harry. 
He threatened to come over and buy her of Madam Le 
Clere ; and so, to quiet Harry, I promised to come over hero 
before him, and make an offer for her.” 

“ Why,” said Clayton, “ do you think her mistress wouid 
sell her ? ” 

“ I can’t say,” said Nina. “ She is a person I am ac* 
quainted with only by report. She is a New Orleans creole, 
who has lately bought the place. Lisette, I believe, hires 
her time of her. Lisette is an ingenious, active creature, 
and contrives, by many little arts and accomplishments, to 
pay a handsome sum, monthly, to her mistress. Whether 
the offer of a large sum at once would tempt her to sell 
her, is more than I know until it ’s tried. I should like to 
have Lisette, for Harry’s sake.” 

“ And do you suppose your brother was really serious ? ” 

“ I should n’t be at all surprised if he were. But, serious 
or not serious, I intend to make the matter sure.” 

“ If it be necessary to make an immediate payment,” said 
Clayton, “ I have a sum of money which is lying idle in the 
bank, and it ’s but drawing a check which will be honored 
at sight. I mention this, because the ability to make an 
immediate payment may make the negotiation easier. You 
ought to allow me the pleasure of joining you in a good 
work.” 

“ Thank you,” said Nina, frankly. “ It may not be 
necessary ; but, if it should be, I will take it in the same 
spirit in which it is offered.” 


TOM GORDON. 


179 


After a ride of about an hour, they arrived in the bound- 
aries of Belleville plantation. 

In former days, Nina had known this as the residence of 
an ancient rich family, with whom her father was on visiting 
terms. She was therefore uncomfortably struck with the 
air of poverty, waste, and decay, everywhere conspicuous 
through the grounds. 

Nothing is more depressing and disheartening than the 
sight of a gradual decay of what has been arranged and 
constructed with great care ; and when Nina saw the 
dilapidated gateway, the crushed and broken shrubbery, 
the gaps in the fine avenue where trees had been improvi- 
dently cut down for fire-wood, she could not help a feeling 
of depression. 

“ How different this place used to be when I came here 
as a child I ” said she. “ This madam, whatever her name 
is, can’t be much of a manager.” 

As she said this, their horses came up the front of the 
house, in which the same marks of slovenly neglect were 
apparent. Blinds were hanging by one hinge ; the door 
had sunk down into the rotten sill ; the wooden pillars that 
supported it were decayed at the bottom ; and the twin- 
ing roses which once climbed upon them laid trailing, dis- 
honored, upon the ground. The veranda was littered with 
all kinds of rubbish, — rough boxes, saddles, bridles, over- 
coats ; and various nondescript articles formed convenient 
hiding-places and retreats, in which a troop of negro chil- 
dren and three or four dogs were playing at hide-and-go- 
seek with great relish and noise. On the alighting of Nina 
and Clayton at the door, they all left their sports, and ar- 
ranged themselves in a grinning row, to see the new comers 
descend. Nothing seemed to be further from the minds of 
the little troop than affording the slightest assistance in the 
way of holding horses or answering questions. All they 
did was alternately to look at each other and the travellers, 
and grin. 

A tattered servant-man, with half a straw hat on his head, 


180 


TOM GORDON. 


was at length raised by a call of Clayton, who took their 
horses — having first distributed a salutation of kicks and 
cuffs among the children, asking where their manners were 
that they did n’t show the gentleman and lady in. And 
Nina and Clayton were now marshalled by the whole seven 
of them into an apartment on the right of the great hall. 
Everything in the room appeared in an unfinished state. 
The curtains were half put up at the windows, and part 
lying in a confused heap on the chairs. The damp, mouldy 
paper, which hung loosely from the wall, had been torn away 
in some places, as if to prepare for repapering ; and certain 
half-opened rolls of costly wall-paper lay on the table, on 
which appeared the fragment of some ancient luncheon ; to 
wit, plates, and pieces of bread and cheese, dirty tumblers, 
and an empty bottle. It was difficult to find a chair suffi- 
ciently free from dust to sit down on. Nina sent up her 
card by one of the small fry, who, having got half-way up 
the staircase, was suddenly taken with the desire to slide 
down the banisters with it in his hand. Of course he 
dropped the card in the operation ; and the whole group 
precipitated themselves briskly on to it, all in a heap, and 
fought, tooth and nail, for the honor of carrying it up stairs. 
They were aroused, however, by the entrance of the man 
with half a hat ; who, on Nina’s earnest suggestion, plunged 
into the troop, which ran, chattering and screaming like so 
many crows, to different parts of the hall, while he picked 
up the card, and, with infinite good-will beaming on his 
shining black face, went up with it, leaving Nina and Clay- 
ton waiting below. In a few moments he returned. 

" Missis will see de young lady up stairs.” 

Nina tripped promptly after him, and left Clayton the sole 
tenant of the parlor for an hour. At length she returned, 
skipping down the stairs, and opening the door with g r eat 
animation. 

“ The thing is done ! ” she said. “ The bill of sale will 
be signed as soon as we can send it over.” 


TOM GORDON. 


m 

“ I had better bring it over myself,” said Clayton, “ and 
make the arrangement.” 

'* So be it ! ” said Nina. “ But pray let us be delivered 
from this place ! Did you ever see such a desolate-looking 
house ? I remember when I 've seen it a perfect paradise — 
full of the most agreeable people.” 

" And pray what sort- of a person did you find ?” said 
Clayton, as they were riding homeward. 

“ Well,” said Nina, “she's one of the tow-string order 
of women. Very slack-twisted, too, I fancy — tall, snuffy, 
and sallow. Clothes looked rough-dry, as if they had been 
pulled out of a bag. She had a bright-colored Madras 
handkerchief tied round her head, and spoke French a lit- 
tle more through her nose than French people usually do. 
Flourished a yellow silk pocket-handkerchief. Poor soul ! 
She said she had been sick for a week with tooth-ache, and 
kept awake all night I So, one must n't be critical ! One 
comfort about these French people is, that they are always 
' ravis de vous voir,' let what will turn up. The good soul 
was really polite, and insisted on clearing ail the things off’ 
from a dusty old chair for me to sit down in. The room was 
as much at sixes and sevens as the rest of the house. She 
apologized for the whole state of things by saying that they 
could not get workmen out there to do anything for her ; 
and so everything is left in the second future tense ; and 
the darkeys, I imagine, have a general glorification in the 
chaos. She is one of the indulgent sort, and I suspect 
she '11 be eaten up by them like the locusts. Poor thing ! 
she is shockingly home-sick, and longing for Louisiana, 
again. For, notwithstanding her snuffy appearance, and 
yellow pocket-handkerchief, she really has a genuine taste 
for beauty ; and spoke most feelingly of the oleanders, crape 
myrtles, and cape jessamines, of her native state.” 

“ Well, how did you introduce your business ? ” said Clay- 
ton, laughing at this description. , 

“ Me? — Why, I flourished out the little French I havo 
at command, and she flourished her little English ; and I 
10 


m 


TOM GORDON. 


thmk ’ ratiisi to ^possessed the good soul, to begis 
Then J made a sentimental story about Lisette and Harry'S 
amours ; oecanse I know French people always have a 
taste for the sentimental. The old thing was really quite 
affected — wiped her little black eyes, pulled her hooked 
nose as a tribute to my eloquence, called Lisette her * enfant 
mignon,' and gave me a little lecture on the tender passion, 
which I am going to lay up for future use." 

“ Indeed ! " said Clayton. “ I should be charmed to have 
you repeat it. Can't you give us a synopsis ? " 

“ I don't know what synopsis means. But, if you want 
me to tell you what she said, I shan't do it. Well, now, do 
you know I am in the best spirits in the world, now that 
I 've got this thing off my mind, and out of that desolate 
house ? Did you ever see such a direful place ? What is 
the reason, when we get down south, here, everything 
seems to be going to destruction, so ? I noticed it all the 
way down through Virginia. It seems as if everything had 
stopped growing, and was going backwards. Well, now, 
it's so different at the north! I went up, one vacation, into 
New Hampshire. It 's a dreadfully poor, barren country ; 
nothing but stony hills, and poor soil. And yet the people 
there seem to be so well off! They live in such nice, tight, 
clean-looking white houses ! Everything around them looks 
so careful and comfortable; and yet their land isn't half 
so’ good as ours, down here. Why, actually, some of those 
places seem as if there were nothing but rock ! And, then, 
they have winter about nine months in the year, I do believe ! 
But these Yankees turn everything to account. If a man's 
field is covered with rock, he '11 find some way to sell it, and 
make money out of it ; and if they freeze up all winter, they 
sell the ice, and make money out of that. They just live 
by selling their disadvantages ! " 

“ And wo grow poor by wasting our advantages," said 
Clayton. 

“ Do you know," said Nina, “people think it's a dread- 
ful thing to be an abolitionist? But. for my part, I've a 


TOM GOKDON. 


183 


great inclination to be one. Perhaps because I have a con- 
trary turn, and always have a little spite against what 
everybody else believes. But, if you won’t tell anybody, 
I ’ll tell you — I don’t believe in slavery I ” 

“ Nor I, either I ” said Clayton. 

“You don’t ! Well, really, I thought I was saying some- 
thing original. Now, the other day, Aunt Nesbit’s minister 
was at our house, and they sat crooning together, as they 
always do ; and, among other things, they said, * What a 
blessed institution it was to bring these poor Africans over 
here to get them Christianized I ’ So, by way of saying 
something to give them a start, I told them I thought they 
came nearer to making heathen of us than we to making 
Christians of them.” 

“That’s very true,” said Clayton. “ There’s no doubt 
that the kind of society which is built up in this way con- 
stantly tends to run back towards barbarism. It prevents 
general education of the whites, and keeps the poorer 
classes down to the lowest point, while it enriches a few.” 

“ Well, what do we have it for ? ” said Nina. “ Why 
don’t we blow it up, right off? ” 

“ That ’s a question easier asked than answered. The 
laws against emancipation are very stringent. But I think 
it is every owner’s business to contemplate this as a future 
resort, and to educate his servants in reference to it. That 
is what I am trying to do on my plantation.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Nina, looking at him with a good deal 
of interest. “ Well, now, that reminds me of what I was 
going to say to you. Generally speaking, my conscience 
don’t trouble me much about my servants, because I think 
they are doing about as well with me as they would be 
likely to do anywhere else. But, now, there ’s Harry ! He 
is well-educated, and 1 know that he could do for himself, 
anywhere, better than he does here. I have always had a 
kind of sense of this ; but I ’ve thought of it more lately, and 
I ’m going to try to have him set free at the next legislature. 


184 


TOM GORDON. 


And I shall want you to help me about all the what-do-you* 
call-’ems.” 

“ Of course, I shall be quite at your service, ” said Clay- 
ton. 

“ There used to be some people, when I was up at the 
north, who talked as if all of us were no better than a pack 
of robbers and thieves. And, of course, when I was there I 
was strong for our institutions, and would not give them an 
inch of ground. It set me to thinking, though ; and the 
result of my thinking is, that we have no right to hold those 
to work for us who clearly can do better. Now, there 's 
Aunt Nesbit's Milly — there ’s Harry and Lisette. Why, 
it ’s clear enough, if they can support themselves and us 
too, they certainly can support themselves alone. Lisette 
has paid eight dollars a month to her mistress, and sup- 
ported herself besides. I ’in sure it ? s we that are the help- 
less ones ! ” 

“ Well, do you think your Aunt Nesbit is going to follow 
your example ? ” 

“ No ! catch her at it ! Aunt Nesbit is doubly fortified 
in her religion. She is so satisfied with something or other 
about * cursed be Canaan/ that she ’d let Milly earn ten 
dollars a month for her, all the year round, and never 
trouble her head about taking every bit of it. Some folks, 
you know, have a way of calling everything they want to 
do a dispensation of providence ! Now, Aunt Nesbit is one 
of ’em. She always calls it a dispensation that the negroes 
were brought over here, and a dispensation that we are the 
mistresses. Ah ! Milly will not get free while Aunt Nesbit 
is alive 1 And do you know, though it does not seem 
very generous in me, yet 1 ’m resigned to it, because Milly 
is such a good soul, and such a comfort to me ? — do you 
know she seems a great deal more like a mother to me 
than Aunt Nesbit? Why, I really think, if Milly had 
been educated as we are, she would have made a most 
splendid woman — been a perfect Candace queen of Ethio- 
pia. there ’s a vast deal that is curious and interesting in 


185 


TOM GORLON. 

some of these old Africans. I always d.d ’ove to be with 
them ; some of them are so shrewd and original I But, I 
wonder, now, what Tom will think of my cutting h^m out 
so neatly ? ’T will make him angry, I suppose.” 

“ 0, perhaps, after all, he hr.d no real intention of doing 
anything of the kind,” said C'ayton, “He may have said 
it merely for bravado.” 

“ I should have thought so, if I had n’t known that he 
always had a grudge againrt Harry.” 

At this moment the galloping of a horse was heard in the 
woodland ^atii before them ; and very soon Tom Gordon 
appeared in sight accompanied by another man, on horse 
back, with whom he was in earnest conversation. There 
was something about the face of this man which, at the first 
glance, Nina felt to be very repulsive. He was iow, thick- 
set, and yet lean ; his features were thin and shaip ; his 
hair and eyebrows bushy and black, and a pair of glassy, 
pale-blue eyes formed a peculiar contrast to their daikness. 
There was something in the expression of the eye which 
struck Nina as hard and cold. Though the man was 
habited externally as a genilsman, there was still about 3dm 
an under-bred appearance, which could be detected at die 
first glance, as the coarseness of some woods will jeveal 
themselves through every varnish. 

“ Good-morrow, Nina,” said her brother, drawing his horse 
up to meet hers, and signing to his companion to arrest his, 
also. “ Allow me to present to you my friend Mr. Jekyl. 
We are going out to visit the Belleville plantation.” 

“ I wish you a pleasant ride I ” said Nina. And, touch- 
ing her horse, she passed them ; n a moment. 

Looking back almost fiercely, a moment, she turned and 
said to Clayton : 

“ I hate that man ! ” 

“ Who is it ? ” said Clayton. 

“ 1 don’t know 1 ” said Nina. “ I never saw him before. 
But I hate him ! He is a bad man I I ’d as soon have a 
serpent come near me, as that man ! ” 

16 * 


188 


TOM GORDON. 


“ Well, the poor fellow’s face isn’- prepossessing,” ssid 
Clayton. “But I should not be prepared for such an 
anathema.” 

“ Tom’s badness,” continued N‘na, speaking as if she 
were following out a train of thought without regarding her 
companion’s remark, “is good turned to bad. It’s wine 
turned to vinegar. But this man don’t even know what 
good is ! ” 

“ How can you be so positive about a person that you’ve 
only seen once ? ” said Clayton. 

“ 0,” said Nina, resuming her usual gay tones, “ don’t 
you know that girls and dogs, and other inferior creatures, 
have the gift of seeing what ’s in people ? It does n’t 
belong to highly-cultivated folks, like you, but to us poor 
creatures, who have to trust to our instincts. So, beware 1 ” 
And, as she spoke, she turned to him with a fascinating air 
of half-saucy defiance. 

“ Well,” said Clayton, “ have you seen, then, what is 
in me ? ” 

“ Yes, to be sure ! ” said Nina, with energy ; “ I knew 
what you were the very first t'me I saw you. And that ’s 
the reason why — ” 

Clayton made an eager gesture, and his eye met hers with 
a sudden flash of earnestness. She, stopped, and blushed, 
and then laughed. 

“ What, Nina ? ” 

“ 0, well, I always thought you were a grandfatherly 
body, and that you wouldn’t take advantage of ‘ us girls,’ 
as some of the men do. And so I’ve treated you with 
confidence, as you know. I had just the same feeling 
that you could be trusted, as I have that that other fellow 
cannot ! ” 

“ Well,” said Clayton, “that deduction suits me so well 
that I should be sorry to undermine your faith. Neverthe- 
less, I must say such a way of judging is n’t always safe. 
Instinct may be a greater matter than we think; yet it 
is n’t infallible, any more than our senses. We try the tes- 


TOM GORDON. 


18 * 


tiinony even Df our eyesight by reason. It will deceive us, 
if we don’t. Much more we ought to try this more subtle 
kind of sight.” 

“ May be so,” said Nina ; “yet, I don’t think I shall like 
that man, after all. But I ’ll give him a chance to alter my 
feeling, by treating him civilly if Tom brings him back to 
dinner. That ’s tbo best I can do.” 


/ 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 

On entering the house, Nina was met at the door by 
Milly, with a countenance of some anxiety. 

“ Miss Nina,” she said, “ your aunt has heard bad news, 
this morning.” 

“ Bad news ! ” said Nina, quickly, — “ what ? ” 

“ Well, honey, ye see dere has been a lawyer here,” said 
Milly, following Nina as sho was going up stairs ; “ and 
she has been shut up with him all de mornin’ ; and when he 
come out I found her taking on quite dreadful ! And she 
says she has lost all her property.” 

“ 0 I is that all?” said Nina. “1 didn’t know what 
dreadful thing might have happened. Why, Milly, this 
is n’t so very bad. She had n’t much to lose.” 

“ 0, bless yo'., chile ! nobody wants to lose all they got, 
much or little 1 ” 

“ Yes ; but,” said Nina, “ you know she can always live 
here with us ; and what little money she wants to fuss with, 
to buy new caps, and paregori:* for her cough, and all such 
little matters, we can give her, easily enough.” 

“ Ah, Miss Nina, your heart is free enough ; you ’d give 
away both ends of the rainbow, if you had ’em to give. 
But the trouble is, chile, you haven’t got ’em. Why, 
chile, dis yer great place, and so many mouths opened to 
eat and eat, chile, I tell you it takes heaps to keep it 
a going. And Harry, I tell you, finds it hard work to bring 
it even all the year round, though he never says nothing to 
you about his troubles, — wants you always to walk on 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 


189 


flowers, with both hands full, and never think where they 
come from. I tell you what, chile, we 's boun' to think foi 
you a little ; and I tell you what, I 's jist a going to hire 
out.” 

“ Why, Milly, how ridiculous I " 

“ It an, t ridiculous, now. Why, just look on it, Miss 
Nina. Here's Miss Loo, dat 's one; here's me, dat's 
two; here's Polly, — great grown girl, — three; dere 's 
Tomtit, four ; all on us, eating your bread, and not bringing 
in a cent to you, 'cause all on us together ah't done much 
more than wait on Miss Loo. Why, you 's got servants 
enough of your own to do every turn that wants doing in 
dis yer house. I know, Miss Nina, young ladies don't like 
to hear about dese things ; but the fac' is, victuals cost 
something, and dere must be some on us to bring in some- 
thing. Now, dat ar gentleman what talked with your 
aunt, he said he could find me a right good place up dar to 
the town, and I was just a going. Sally, she is big enough 
now to do everything that I have been used to doing for 
Miss Loo, and I am jest a going ; besides, to tell you the 
truth, I think Miss Loo has kind o' set her heart upon it. 
You know she is a weakly kind of thing, — don't know how 
to do much 'cept sit in her chair and groan. She has 
always been so used to having me make a way for her ; and 
when I told her about dis yer, she kind o' brightened 
up." 

“ But, Milly, what shall I do ? I can't spare you at all," 
said Nina. 

“ Law bless you, chile ! don't you suppose I 's got eyes ? 
I tell you, Miss Nina, I looked that g m'leman over pretty 
well for you, and my opinion is he ’ll do. ’ 

“ 0, come, you hush ! " said Nina. 

“ You see, chile, it would n't be everybody that our 
people would be willing to have come on to the place, hero ; 
but there an't one of 'em that would n't go in for dis yer, 
now I tell you. Dere's Old Hundred, as you calls him, 
told me 't was just as good as a meeting to hear him read- 


190 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 


ing the prayers dat ar day at de funeral. Now, you see, 
I ’s seen gen’lemen handsome, and rich, and right pleas- 
ant, too, dat de people would n’t want at all ; ’cause why ? 
dey has dere frolics and drinks, and de money flies one 
way for dis ting and one way for dat, till by and by it ’s 
all gone. Den comes de sheriff, and de people is all 
sold, some one way and some another way. Now, Mr. 
Clayton, he an’t none of dem.” 

" But, Milly, all this may be very well ; but if I couldn’t 
love him ? ” 

"Law sakes, Miss Nina! You look me in the face and 
tell me dat ar ? Why, chile, it ’s plain enough to see 
through you . ’T is so I The people ’s all pretty sure, by 
this time. Sakes alive, we ’s used to looking out for the 
weather ; and we knows pretty well what ’s coming. And 
now, Miss Nina, you go right along and give him a good 
word, ’cause you see, dear lamb, you need a good husband 
to take care of you, — dat ’s what you want, chile. Girls 
like you has a hard life being at the head of a place, espe- 
cially your brother being just what he is. Now, if you had 
a husband here, Mas’r Tom ’ud be quiet, ’cause he knows 
he could n’t do nothing. But just as long as you ’s alone 
he’ll plague you. But, now, chile, it’s time for you to 
be getting ready for dinner.” 

" 0, but, do you know, Milly,” said Nina, " I ’ve some- 
thing to tell you, which I had liked to have forgotten ! I 
have been out to the Belleville plantation, and bought 
Harry’s wife.” 

“You has, Miss Nina ! Why, de Lord bless you! Why, 
Harry was dreadful worked, dis yer morning, ’bout what 
Mas r Tom said. ’Peared like he was most crazy.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, " I V„ done it. I ’ve got the receipt 
here.” 

“Why, but, chile, where alive did you get all the money 
to pay down right sudden so ? ” 

' Mr. Clayton lent it to me,” said Nina. 

"Mr. Clayton! Now, chile, did n’t I tell you so? Do 


AUNT NESBITTS LOSS. 


191 


you suppose, now, you ’d a let him lend you dat ar money 
if you hadn’t liked him ? But, come, chile, hurry ! Dere ’s 
Mas’r Tom and dat other gen’leman coming back, and you 
must be down to dinner.” 

The company assembled at the dinner-table was not 
particularly enlivening. Tom Gordon, who, in the course 
of his morning ride, had discovered the march which his 
sister had stolen upon him, was more sulky and irritable 
than usual, though too proud to make any allusion to the 
subject. Nina was annoyed by the presence of Mr. Jekyl, 
whom her brother insisted should remain to dinner. Aunt 
Nesbit was uncommonly doleful, of course. Clayton, who, 
in mixed society, generally took the part of a listener 
rather than a talker, said very little ; and had it not been 
for Carson, there ’s no saying whether any of the company 
could have spoken. Every kind of creature has its uses, 
and there are times when a lively, unthinking chatterbox is 
a perfect godsend. Those unperceiving people, who never 
notice the embarrassment of others, and who walk with the 
greatest facility into the gaps of conversation, simply 
because they have no perception of any difficulty there, 
have their hour; and Nina felt positively grateful to Mr. 
Carson for the continuous and cheerful rattle which had so 
annoyed her the day before. Carson drove a brisk talk 
with the lawyer about the value of property, percentage, 
etc. ; he sympathized with Aunt Nesbit on her last-caught 
cold ; rallied Tom on his preoccupation ; complimented Nina 
on her improved color from her ride ; and seemed on such 
excellent terms both with himself and everybody else, that 
the thing was really infectious. 

“ What do you call your best investments, down here, — 
land, eh ? ” he said to Mr. Jekyl. 

Mr. Jekyl shook his head. 

“ Land deteriorates too fast. Besides, there ’s all the 
trouble and risk of overseers, and all that. I ’ve looked this 
thing over pretty well, and I always invest in niggers.” 

“ Ah I ” said Mr. Carson, “ you do ? ” 


192 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 


“ Yes, sir, I invest in niggers ; that ’s what I do ; and 
I hire them out, sir, — hire them out. Why, sir, if a man 
has a knowledge of human nature, knows where to buy and 
when to buy, and watches his opportunity, he gets a better 
percentage on his money that way than any other. Now, that 
was what I was telling Mrs. Nesbit, this morning. Say, 
now, that you give one thousand dollars for a man, — and 
I always buy the best sort, that ’s economy, — well, and 
he gets — put it at the lowest figure — ten dollars a 
month wages, and his living. Well, you see there, that 
gives you a pretty handsome sum for your money. I have 
a good talent of buying. I generally prefer mechanics. I 
have got now working forme three bricklayers. I own two 
first-rate carpenters, and last month I bought a perfect 
jewel of a blacksmith. He is an uncommonly ingenious 
man ; a fellow that will make, easy, his fifteen dollars a 
month ; and he is the more valuable because he has been 
religiously brought up. Why, some of them, now, will cheat 
you, if they can ; but this fellow has been brought up in a 
district where they have a missionary, and a great deal of 
pains has been taken to form his religious principles. 
Now, this fellow would no more think of touching a cent 
of his earnings than he would of stealing right out of my 
pocket. I tell people about him, sometimes, when . I find 
them opposed to religious instruction. I tell them, 1 See 
there, now — you see how godliness is profitable to the life 
that now is.’ You know the Scriptures, Mrs. Nesbit ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Aunt Nesbit, “ I always believed in reli- 
gious education.” 

“ Confound it all ! ” said Tom, “ I don't! I don’t see the 
use of making a set of hypocritical sneaks of them ! I ’d 
make niggers bring me my money ; but, hang it all, if he 
came snuffling to me, pretending ’t was his duty, I ’d choke 
him ! They never think so, — they don’t, and they can’t, 
— and it ’s all hypocrisy, this religious instruction, as you 
call it ! ” 

“No, it isn’t,” said the undiscouraged Mr. Jekyl, “not 


A UNI NESBTT’S L0S8. 


193 


when you found it on right principles. Talre them early 
enough, and work them right, you r ll get it ground into 
them. Now, when they begun religious instruction, there 
was a great prejudice against it in our part of the country. 
You see they were afraid that the niggers would get uppish. 
Ah, but you see the missionaries are pretty careful ; they 
put it in strong in the catechisms about the rights of the 
master. You see the instruction is just grounded on this, 
that the master stands in God’s place to them.” 

“ D — d bosh ! ” said Tom Gordon. 

Aunt Nesbit looked across the table as if she were going 
to faint. But Mr. Jekyl’s composure was not in the 
slightest degree interrupted. 

“I can tell you,” he said, “ that, in a business, practical 
view, — for I am used to investments, — that, since the pub- 
lishing of those catechisms, and the missionaries’ work 
among the niggers, the value of that kind of property has 
risen ten per cent. They are better contented. They don’t 
run away, as they used to. Just that simple idea that their 
master stands in God’s place to them. Why, you see, it 
cuts its way.” 

“ I have a radical objection to all that kind of instruc- 
tion,” said Clayton. 

Aunt Nesbit opened her eyes, as if she could hardly 
believe her hearing. 

“And pray what is your objection?” said Mr. Jekyl, 
with an unmoved countenance. 

“ My objection is that it is all a lie,” said Clayton, in such 
a positive tone that everybody looked at him with a start. 

Clayton was one of those silent men who are seldom 
roused to talk, but who go |vith a rush when they are. Not 
seeming to notice the startled looks of the company, he 
went on ; “ It ’s a worse lie, because it ’s told to bewilder a 
simple, ignorant, confiding creature. I never could con- 
ceive how a decent man could ever look another man in the 
face and say such things. 1 remember reading, in one of 
the missionary reports, that when this doctrine was first 
17 


194 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 


propounded in an assembly of negroes somewhere, all the 
most intelligent of them got up and walked deliberately out 
of the house ; and I honor them for it.’ 7 

“ Good for them ! ” said Tom Gordon. “I can keep rrv 
niggers down without any such stuff as that ! ” 

“ I have no doubt/’ said Clayton, “that these mission- 
aries are well-intending, good men, and that they actually 
think the only way to get access to the negroes at all is, 
to be very positive in what will please the masters. But 
I think they fall into the same . error that the J esuits did 
when they adulterated Christianity with idolatry in order to 
get admission in Japan. A lie never works well in religion, 
nor in morals.” 

“ That’s what I believe,” said Nina, warmly. 

“ But, then, if you can’t teach them this, what can you 
teach them ? ” said Mr. Jekyl. 

“ Confound it all 1 ” said Tom Gordon, “ teach them that 
you ’ve got the power J — teach them the weight of your fist ! 
That ’s enough for them. I am bad enough, I know ; but 
I can’t bear hypocrisy. I show a fellow my pistol. I say 
to him, You see that, sir ! I tell him, You do so and so, and 
you shall have a good time with me. But, you do that, and 
I ’ll thrash you within an inch of your life ! That’s my short 
method with niggers, and poor whites, too. When one of 
these canting fellows comes round to my plantation, let him 
see what he ’ll get, that ’s all ! ” 

Mr. Jekyl appeared properly shocked at this declaration. 
Aunt Nesbit looked as if it was just what she had expected, 
and went on eating her potato with a mournful air, as if 
nothing could surprise her. Nina looked excessively an- 
noyed, and turned a sort of appealing glance upon Clayton. 

“For my part,” said Clayton, “ I base my religious in- 
struction to my people on the ground that every man and 
every woman must give an account of themselves to God 
alone ; and that God is to be obeyed first, and before 
me.” 

“Why,” said Mr. Jekyl, “that would be destructive 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 


195 


of all discipline. If you are going to allow every fellow 
to judge for himself, among a parcel of ignorant, selfish 
wretches, what the will of God is, one will think it ’s one 
thing, another will think it ’s another ; and there will be an 
end of all order. It would be absolutely impossible to 
govern a place in that way.” 

“ They must not be left an ignorant set,” said Clayton. 
“ They must be taught to read the Scriptures for them- 
selves, and be able to see that my authority accords with 
it. If I command anything contrary to it, they ought to 
oppose it ! ” 

“ Ah ! I should like to see a plantation managed in that 
way I ” said Tom Gordon, scornfully. 

“ Please God, you shall see such an one, if you ’ll come to 
mine,” said Clayton, “ where I should be very happy to 
see you, sir.” 

The tone in which this was said was so frank and sin- 
cere, that Tom was silenced, and could not help a rather 
sullen acknowledgment. 

“I think,” said Mr. Jekyl, “that you’ll find such a 
course, however well it may work at first, will fail at last. 
You begin to let people think, and they won’t stop where 
you want them to ; they ’ll go too far ; it ’s human nature. 
The more you give, the more you may give. You once get 
your fellows to thinking, and asking all sorts of questions, 
and they get discontented at once. I ’ve seen that thing 
tried in one or two instances, and it did n’t turn out well. 
Fellows got restless and discontented. The more was 
given to them, the more dissatisfied they grew, till finally 
they put for the free states.” 

“ Very well,” said Clayton ; “if that’s to be the result, 
they may all 1 put ’ as soon as they can get ready. If my 
title to them won’t bear an intelligent investigation, I don’t 
wish to keep them. But I never will consent to keep them 
by making false statements to them in the name of religion, 
and presuming to put myself as an object of obedience 
before my Maker.” 


196 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 


“ I think,” said Mr. Carson, “ Mr. Clayton shows an ex- 
cellent spirit — excellent spirit! On my word, I think so. 
I wish some of our northern agitators, who make such a 
fuss on the subject, could hear him. I ’m always disgusted 
with these abolitionists producing such an unpleasantness 
between the north and the south, interrupting trade, and 
friendship, and all that sort of thing.” 

“ He shows an excellent spirit,” said Mr. Jekyl ; “ but 
I must think he is mistaken, if he thinks that he can bring 
up people in that way, under our institutions, and not do 
them more harm than good. It’s a notorious fact that 
the worst insurrections have arisen from the reading of the 
Bible by these ignorant fellows. That was the case with 
Nat Turner, in Virginia. That was the case with Denmark 
Vesey, and his crew, in South Carolina. I tell you, sir, it 
will never do, this turning out a set of ignorant people to 
pasture in the Bible ! That blessed book is a savor of life 
unto life when it ’s used right ; but it ’s a savor of death 
unto death when ignorant people take hold of it. The 
proper way is this : administer such portions only as these 
creatures are capable of understanding. This admirable 
system of religious instruction keeps the matter in our own 
hands, by allowing us to select for them such portions of 
the word as are best fitted to keep them quiet, dutiful, and 
obedient ; and I venture to predict that whoever under- 
takes to manage a plantation on any other system will 
soon find it getting out of his hands.” 

“ So you are afraid to trust the Lord’s word without 
holding the bridle!” said Tom, with a sneer. "That’s 
pretty well for you ! ” 

“ I am not ! ” said Clayton. “ I ’m willing to resign any 
rights to any one that I am not able to defend in God’s 
word — any that I cannot make apparent to any man’s 
cultivated reason. I scorn the idea that I must dwarf a 
man’s mind, and keep him ignorant and childish, in order 
to make him believe any lie I choose to tell him about my 
rights over him ! I intend to have an educated, intelligent 


AUNT NESBTTS LOSS. 


197 


people, who shall submit to me because they think it clearly 
for their best interests to do so ; because they shall feel 
that what I command is right in the sight of God.” 

“It's my opinion,” said Tom, “ that both these ways of 
managing are humbugs. One way makes hypocrites, and 
the other makes rebels. The best way of educating is, to 
show folks that they can't helf themselves. All the fussing 
and arguing in the world is n't worth one dose of certainty 
on that point. Just let them know that there are no two 
ways about it, and you'll have all still enough.” 

From this point the conversation was pursued with con- 
siderable warmth, till Nina and Aunt Nesbit ose and retired 
to the drawing-room. Perhaps it did not materially discour- 
age Clayton, in the position he had taken, that Nina, with the 
frankness usual to her, expressed the most eager and undis- 
guised admiration of all that he said. 

“Didn't he talk beautifully ? Wasn't it noble?” she 
said to Aunt Nesbit, as she came ir. the drawing-room. 
“ And that hateful Jekyl ! is n't he mean 9 ” 

“Child!” said Aunt Nesbit, “I'm surprised to hear 
you speak so ! Mr. Jekyl is a very respectable lawyer, an 
elder in the church, and a very pious man. He has given 
me some most excellent advice about my affairs ; and he is 
going to take Milly with him, and find her a good place. 
He 's been making some investigations, Nina, and he 's 
going to talk to you about them, after dinner. He 's dis- 
covered that there 's an estate in Mississippi worth a hundred 
thousand dollars, that ought properly to come to you ! ” 

“ I don't believe a word of it ! ” said Nina. “ Don't like 
the man ! — think he is hateful ! — don't want to hear any- 
thing he has to say ! — don't believe in him ! " 

“ Nina, how often I have warned you against such sud- 
den prejudices — against such a good man, too ! " 

“ You won't make me believe he is good, not if he were 
elder in twenty churches ! " 

“ Well, but, child, at any rate you must listen to what 
he has got to say. Your brother will be very angry if you 

n* 


198 


AUNT NESBIT’S LOSS. 


don’t ; and it ’s really very important. At any rate, you 
ought not to offend Tom, when you can help it.” 

“That’s true enough,” said Nina; “and I ’ll hear, and 
try and behave as well as I can. I hope the man will go, 
some time or other ! I don’t know why, but his talk makes 
me feel worse than Tom’s swearing J That ’s certain.” 

Aunt Nesbit looked at Nina as if she considered her in a 
most hopeless condition. 


CHATTER XV. 


MR. JEKYL’S OPINIONS. 

After the return of the gentlemen to the drawing-room, 
Ni.ua, at the request of Tom, followed him and Mr. Jekyl 
into the library. 

“ Mr. Jekyl is going to make some statements to us, 
Nina, about our property in Mississippi, which, if they turn 
out as he expects, will set us up in- the world,” said Tom. 

Nina threw herself carelessly into the leathern arm-chair 
by the window, and looked out of it. 

“You see,” said Mr. Jekyl, also seating himself, and 
pulling out the stiff points of his collar, “ having done law 
business for your father, and known, in that way, a good 
deal about the family property, I have naturally always felt 
a good deal of interest in it ; and you remember your 
father’s sister, Mrs. Stewart, inherited, on the death of her 
husband, a fine estate in Mississippi.” 

“ I remember,” said Tom, — “ well, go on.” 

“Well, she died, and left it all to her son. Well, he, it 
seems, like some other young men, lived in a very repre- 
hensible union with a handsome quadroon girl, who was his 
mother’s maid ; and she, being an artful creature, I suppose, 
as a great many of them are, got such an ascendency over 
him, that he took her up to Ohio, and married her, and lived 
there with her some years, and had two children by her. 
Well, you see, he had a deed of emancipation recorded for 
her in Mississippi, and, just taking her into Ohio, set her 
free by the laws of that state. Well, you see, he thought 
he ’d fixed it so that the thing could n’t be undone, and she 


200 


MR. JEKYL’S OPINIONS. 


thought so too ; and I understand she ’s a pretty shrewd 
woman — has a considerable share of character, or else she 
would n’t have done just what she has ; for, you see, he 
died about six months ago, and left the plantation and all 
the property to her and her children, and she has been so 
secure that she has actually gone and taken possession. 
You see, she is so near white, you must know that there 
is n’t one in twenty would think what she was, — and the 
people round there, actually, some of them, had forgotten 
all about it, and did n’t know but what she was a white 
woman from Ohio ; and so, you see, the thing never would 
have been looked into at all, if I had n’t happened to have 
been down there. But, you see, she turned off an overseer 
that had managed the place, because the people complained 
of him ; and I happened to fall in with the man, and he began 
telling me his story, and, after a little inquiry, I found who 
these people were. Well, sir, I just went to one of the first 
lawyers, for I suspected there was false play ; and we looked 
over the emancipation laws together, and we found out that, 
as the law stood, the deed of emancipation was no more than 
so much waste paper. And so, you see, she and her chil- 
dren are just as much slaves as any on her plantation ; and 
the whole property, which is worth a hundred thousand 
dollars, belongs to your family. I rode out with him, and 
looked over the place, and got introduced to her and her 
children, and looked them over. Considered as property, I 
should call them a valuable lot. She is past forty, but she 
don’t look older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, I should 
say. She is a very good-looking woman, and then, I ’m 
told, a very capable woman. Well, her price in the market 
might range between one thousand and fifteen hundred 
dollars. Smalley said he had seen no better article sold 
for two thousand dollars ; but, then, he said, they had to 
give a false certificate as to the age, — and that I could n’t 
hear of, for I never countenance anything like untruth. 
Then, the woman’s children : she has got two fine-looking 
children as I have ever seen — almost white. The boy is 


MR. JEKYL’S OPINIONS. 


201 


about ten years old ; the little girl, about four. You may 
be sure I was pretty careful not to let on, because I con- 
sider the woman and children are an important part of the 
'property, and, of course, nothing had better be said about 
it, lest she should be off before we are ready to come down 
on them. Now, you see, you Gordons are the proper owners 
of this whole property ; there is n’t the slightest doubt in 
my mind that you ought to put in your claim immediately. 
The act of emancipation was contrary to law, and, though 
the man meant well, yet it amounted to a robbery of the 
heirs I declare, it rather raised my indignation to see that 
creature so easy in the possession of property which of right 
belongs to you. Now, if I have only the consent of the 
heirs, I can go on and commence operations immediately.” 

Nina had been sitting regarding Mr. Jekyl with a fixed 
and determined expression of countenance. When he had 
finished, she said to him, 

“ Mr. Jekyl, I understand you are an elder in the 
church ; is that true ? ” 

“Yes, Miss Gordon, I have that privilege,” said Mr. 
Jekyl, his sharp, business tone subsiding into a sigh. 

“ Because,” said Nina, “I am a wild young girl, and 
don’t profess to know much about religion ; but I want you 
to tell me, as a Christian, if you think it would be right to 
take this woman and children, and her property.” 

“ Why, certainly, my dear Miss Gordon ; is n’t it right 
that every one should have his own property ? I view things 
simply with the eye of the law ; and, in the eye of the law, 
that woman and her children are as much your property 
as the shoe on your foot; there is no manner of doubt 
of it.” 

“ I should think,” said Nina, “that you might see with 
the eye of the Gospel, sometimes ! I)o you think, Mr. 
Jekyl, that doing this is doing as I should wish to be done 
by, if I were in the place of this woman ? ” 

“ My dear Miss Gordon, young ladies of fine feeling, at 
your time of life, are often confused on this subject by a 


202 


MR. JEKYL’S OPINIONS. 


wrong application of the Scripture language. Suppose I 
were a robber, and had possession of jour property ? Of 
course, I shouldn't wish to be made to give it up. But 
would it follow that the golden rule obliged the lawful pos- 
sessor not to take it from me ? This woman is your prop- 
erty ; this estate is your property, and she is holding it as 
unlawfully as a robber. Of course, she won't want to give 
it up ; but right is right, notwithstanding." 

Like many other young persons, Niua could feel her way 
out of a sophistry much sooner than she could think it out ; 
and she answered to all this reasoning, 

“ After all, I can't think it would be right." 

“ 0, confound the humbug ! " said Tom, “ who cares 
whether it is right or not? The fact is, Nin, to speak 
plain sense to you you and I both are deuced hard up for 
money, and want all we can get ; and what 's the use of 
being more religious than the very saints themselves at our 
time of day ? Mr. J ekyl is a pious man — one of the tallest 
kind ! He thinks this is all right, and why need we set 
ourselves all up ? He has talked with Uncle John, and he 
goes in for it. As for my part, I am free to own I don't 
care whether it 's right or not 1 I '11 do it if I can. Might 
makes right, — that 's my doctrine 1 " 

“Why,". said Mr. Jekyl, “I have examined the subject, 
and I have n't the slightest doubt that slavery is a divinely- 
appointed institution, and that the rights of the masters 
are sanctioned by God ; so, however much I may naturally 
frel for this woman, whose position is, I must say, an un- 
fortunate one, still it is my duty to see that the law is prop- 
e”ly admimstered in the case." 

“ AJ1 I have to say, Mr. Jekyl," said Nina, “is just this: 
that I won’t have anything to do with this matter ; for, if I 
can't prove it's wrong, I shall always feel it is." 

“ Nina, how ridiculous 1 " said Tom. 

“ I have said my say," said Nina, as she rose and left 
li? s oom. 


i 


MR. jekyl ’s opinions. $33 

“Very natural, — line feelings, but uninstructed,” said 
Mr. Jekyl. 

“ Certainly, we pious folks know a trick worth two o'' 
that, don’t we?” said Tom. “ I say, Jekyl, this sister 
of mine is a pretty rapid little case, I can tell you, as you 
saw by the way she circumvented us, this morning. She is 
quite capable of upsetting the whole dish, unless we go 
about it immediately. You see, her pet nigger, this Harry, 
is this woman’s brother ; and if she gave him the word, 
he ’d write at once, and put her on the alarm. You and I 
had better start off to-morrow, before this Harry comes 
back. I believe he is to be gone a few days. It ’s no matter 
whether she consents to the suit or not. She don’t need 
to know anything about it.” 

“Well,” said Jekyl, “I advise you to go right on, and 
have the woman and children secured. It ’s a perfectly fair, 
legal proceeding. There has been an evident evasion of 
the law of the state, by means of which your family are 
defrauded of an immense sum. At all events, it will be 
tried in an open court of justice, and she will be allowed to 
appear by her counsel. It ’s a perfectly plain, above-board 
proceeding ; and, as the young lady has shown such fine 
feelings, there ’s the best reason to suppose that the fate 
of this woman would be as good in her hands as in her 
own.” 

Mr. Jekyl was not now talking to convince Tom Gor- 
don, but himself ; for, spite of himself, Nina’s questions 
had awakened in his mind a sufficient degree of misgiving 
to make it necessary for him to pass in review the argu- 
ments by which he generally satisfied himself. Mr. Jekyl 
was a theologian, and a man of principle. His metaphysi- 
cal talent, indeed, made him a point of reference among 
his Christian brethren ; and he spent much of his leisure 
time in reading theological treatises. His favor'te subject 
of all was the nature of true virtue ; and this, he had fixed 
in his mind, consisted in a love of the greatest good. Ac- 
cording to his theology, right consisted in creating the 


204 


MR. JEKYL’S OPINIONS. 


greatest amount of happiness ; and every creature had 
rights to be happy in proportion to his capacity of enjoy- 
ment or being. He whose capacity was ten pounds had a 
right to place his own happiness before that of him who 
had five, because, in that way, five pounds more of hap- 
piness would exist in the general whole.* He considered 
the right of the Creator to consist in the fact that he had a 
greater amount of capacity than all creatures put together, 
and, therefore, was bound to promote his own happiness 
before all of them put together. He believed that the Cre- 
ator made himself his first object in all that he did ; and, 
descending from him, all creatures were to follow the same 
rule, in proportion to their amount of being ; the greater 
capacity of happiness always taking precedence of the less. 
Thus, Mr. Jekyl considered that the Creator brought into 
the world yearly myriads of human beings with no other 
intention than to make them everlastingly miserable ; and 
that this was right, because, his capacity of enjoyment being 
greater than all theirs put together, he had a right to gratify 
himself in this way. 

Mr. Jekyl’s belief in slavery was founded on his theol- 
ogy. He assumed that the white race had the largest 
amount of being ; therefore, it had a right to take prece- 
dence of the black. On this point he held long and severe 
ajguments with his partner, Mr. Israel McFogg, who, be- 
longing to a different school of theology, referred the whole 
matter to no natural fitness, but to a divine decree, by which 
it pleased the Creator in the time of Noah to pronounce a 
curse upon Canaan. The fact that the African race did not 
descend from Canaan was, it is true, a slight difficulty in 
the chain of the argument ; but theologians are daily in the 
habit of surmounting much greater ones. Either way, 
whether by metaphysical fitness or Divine decree, the two 
partners attained the same practical result. 

Mr. Jekyl, though a coarse-grained man, had started 
from the hands of nature no more hard-hearted or unfeeling 
than many others ; but his mind, having for years been 


ME. JEKYL’S OPINIONS. 


205 


immersed in the waters of law and theology, had slowly 
petrified into such a steady consideration of the greatest 
general good, that he was wholly inaccessible to any emo- 
tion of particular humanity. The trembling, eager tone of 
pity, in which Nina had spoken of the woman and children 
who were about to be made victims of a legal process, had 
excited but a moment’s pause. What considerations of tem- 
poral loss and misery can shake the constancy of the theo- 
logian who has accustomed himself to contemplate and 
discuss, as a cool intellectual exercise, the eternal misery 
of generations? — who worships a God that creates myri- 
ads only to glorify himself in their eternal torments ? 

18 


CHAPTER XVI. 

milly’s story. 

Nina spent the evening in the drawing-room ; and he# 
brother, in the animation of a new pursuit, forgetful of the 
difference of the morning, exerted himself to te agreeable, 
and treated her with more consideration and kindness than 
he had done any time since his arrival. He even made some 
off-hand advances towards Clayton, which the latter received 
with good-humor, and which went further than she supposed 
to raise the spirits of Nina ; and so, on the whole, she 
passed a more than usually agreeable evening. On retiring 
to her room, she found Milly, who had been for some time 
patiently waiting for her, having despatched her mistress 
to bed some time since. 

“ Well, Miss Nina, I am going on my travels in the morn- 
ing. Thought I must have a little time to see you, lamb, 
Tore I goes.” 

“ I can’t bear to have you go, Milly ! I don’t like that 
man you are going with.” 

“ I spects he ’s a nice man,” said Milly. “ Of course 
he ’ll look me out a nice place, because he has always took 
good care of Miss Loo’s affairs. So you never trouble 
yourself ’bout me ! I tell you, chile, I never gets where I 
can’t find de Lord ; and when I finds Him, I gets along. 
1 De Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’ ” 

11 But you have never been used to living except in our 
family,” said Nina, “ and, somehow, I feel afraid. If they 
don’t treat you well, come back, Milly ; will you ? ” 

“ Laws, chile, I is n’t much feared but what I ’ll get along 


milly’s story. 


207 


well enough. When people keep about dere business, do- 
ing the best dey ken, folks does n’t often trouble dem I 
never yet seed de folks I could n’t suit,” she added, with a 
glow of honest pride. “ No, chile, it is n’t for myself I ’s 
fearing ; it ’s just for you, chile. Chile, you don’t know 
what it is to live in dis yer world, and I wants you to get 
de Best Friend to go with you. Why, dear lamb, you wants 
somebody to go to and open your heart ; somebody dat ’ll 
love you, and always stand by you ; somebody dat ’ll 
always lead you right, you know. You has more cares than 
such a young thing ought for to have ; great many looking 
to you, and ’pending on you. Now, if your ma was alive, 
it would be dilferent ; but, just now, I see how ’t is ; 
dere ’ll be a hundred things you ’ll be thinking and feeling, 
and nobody to say ’em to. And now, chile, you must learn 
to go to de Lord. Why, chile, he loves youl Chile, he 
loves you just as you be ; if you only saw how much, it 
would melt your heart right down. I told you I was going 
some time fur to tell you my sperience — how I first found 
Jesus. 0 Lord, Lord ! but it is a long story.” 

Nina, whose quick sympathies were touched by the 
earnestness of her old friend, and still more aroused by the 
allusion to her mother, answered, 

“ 0, yes, come, tell me about it 1 ” And, drawing a low 
ottoman, she sat down, and laid her head on the lap of her 
humble friend. 

“ Well, well, you see, chile,” said Milly, her large, dark 
eyes fixing themselves on vacancy, and speaking in a slow 
and dreamy voice, “ a body’s life, in dis yer world, is a 
mighty strange thing ! You see, chile, my mother — well, 
dey brought her from Africa ; my father, too. Heaps and 
heaps my mother has told me about dat ar. Dat ar was a 
mighty fine country, where dey had gold in the rivers, 
and such great, big, tall trees, with de strangest beautiful 
flowers on them you ever did see ! Laws, laws ! well, dey 
brought my mother and my father into Charleston, and dere 
Mr. Campbell, — dat was your ma’s father, honey, — he 


208 


milly’s story. 


bought dem right out of de ship ; but dej had five chib 
dren, and dey was all sold, and dey never knowed where 
they went to. Father and mother could n’t speak a word 
of English when dey come ashore ; and she told me often 
how she could n’t speak a word to nobody, to tell ’em how 
it hurt her. 

“Laws, when I was a chile, I ’member how often, when 
de day’s work was done, she used to come out and sit and 
look up at de stars, and groan, groan, and groan ! I was 
a little thing, playing round ; and I used to come up to her, 
dancing, and saying, 

“ ‘ Mammy, what makes you groan so ? what ’s de mat- 
ter of you ? ’ 

“ ‘ Matter enough, chile ! ’ she used to say. * I ’s a think- 
ing of my poor children. I likes to look at the stars, be- 
cause dey sees the same stars dat I do. ’Pears like we was 
in one room ; but I don’t know where dey is ! Dey don’t 
know where I be I ’ 

“ Den she ’d say to me, 

“ 1 Now, chile, you may be sold away from your mammy. 
Der ’s no knowing what may happen to you, chile ; but, if 
you gets into any trouble, as I does, you mind, chile, you ask 
God to help you.’ 

“ 1 Who is God, mammy,’ says I, ' any how ? ’ 

“ 1 Why, chile,’ says she, * he made dese yer stars.’ 

“ And den I wanted mammy to tell me more about it ; 
only she says, 

“ ‘ He can do anything he likes ; and, if ye are in any 
kind of trouble, he can help you.’ 

" Well, to be sure, I did n’t mind much about it — all 
dancing round, because pretty well don’t need much help. 
But she said dat ar to me so many times, I could n’t help 
’member it. Chile, troubles will come ; and, when dey 
does come, you ask God, and he will help you. 

“ Well, sure enough, I was n’t sold from her, but she was 
took from me, because Mr. Campbell’s brother went off to 
live in Orleans, and parted de hands. My father and mother 


milly’s story. 


209 


was took to Orleans, and I was took to Virginny. Well, 
you see, I growed up along with de young ladies, — your 
ma, Miss Harrit, Miss Loo, and de rest on ’em, — and I had 
heaps of fun. Dey all like Milly. Dey could n’t nobody 
run, nor jump, nor ride a horse, nor row a boat, like Milly ; 
and so it was Milly here, and Milly dere, and whatever de 
young ladies wanted, it was Milly made de way for it. 

“Well, dere was a great difference among dem young 
ladies. Dere was Miss Loo — she was de prettiest, and 
she had a great many beaux ; but, den, dere was your ma 
— everybody loved her; and den dere was Miss Harrit — 
she had right smart of life in her, and was always for doing 
something — always right busy ’tending to something or 
other, and she liked me because I ’d always go in with her. 
Well, well ! dem dar was pleasant times enough; but when 
I got to be about fourteen or fifteen, I began to feel kind 
o’ bad — sort of strange and heavy. I really did n’t know 
why, but ’peared like ’s when I got older, I felt I was in 
bondage. 

“ ’Member one day your ma came in, and seed me looking 
out of window, and she says to me, 

“ * Milly, what makes you so dull lately ? ’ 

“ * 0,’ says I, * I, somehow, I don’t have good times.’ 

“ 1 Why ? ’ says she ; ‘ why not ? Don’t everybody 
make much of you, and don’t you have everything that you 
want ? ’ 

“ 0, well,’ says I, ' missis, I ’s a poor slave-girl, for all 
dat.’ 

“ Chile, your ma was a weety thing, like you. I ’member 
just how she looked dat minute. I felt sorry, ’cause I 
thought I ’d hurt her feelings. But says she, 

“ 1 Milly, I don’t wonder you feel so. I know I should 
feel so, myself, if I was in your place.’ 

“ Afterwards, she told Miss Loo and Miss Harrit ; but 
dey laughed, and said dey guessed dor was n’t many 
girls who were as well off as Milly. Well, den, Miss Har- 
rit, she was married de first. She married Mr. Charles 
* 18 * 


210 


milly's story. 


Blair ; and when she was married, nothing was to do but 
she must have me to go with her. I liked Miss Harrit ; 
but, den, honey, I 'd liked it much better if it had been your 
ma. I 'd always counted that I wanted to belong to your 
ma, and I think your ma wanted me ; but, den, she was 
still, and Miss Harrit she was one of the sort dat never lost 
nothing by not asking for it. She was one of de sort dat 
always got things, by hook or by crook. She always had 
more clothes, and more money, and more everything, dan 
the rest of them, 'cause she was always wide awake, and 
looking out for herself. 

“ Well, Mr. Blair's place was away off in another part of 
Yirginny, and I went dere with her. Well, she wan't very 
happy, no ways, she wan't ; because Mr. Blair, he was a 
high fellow. Laws, Miss Nina, when I tells you dis yere 
one you 've got here is a good one, and I 'vise you to take 
him, it's because I knows what comes o' girls marrying 
high fellows. Don't care how good-looking dey is, nor 
what dere manners is, — it 's just the ruin of girls that has 
them. , Law, when he was a courting Miss Harrit, it was 
all nobody but her. She was going to be his angel, and he 
was going to give up all sorts of bad ways, and live such a 
good life ! Ah ! she married him ; it all went to smoke ! 
'Fore de month was well over, he got a going in his old 
ways ; and den it was go, go, all de time, carousing and 
drinking, — parties at home, parties abroad, — money flying 
like de water. 

“ Well, dis made a great change in Miss Harrit. She 
did n't laugh no more ; she got sharp and cross, and she 
wan't good to me like what she used to be. She took to 
be jealous of me and her husband. She might have saved 
herself de trouble. I should n't have touched him with a 
pair of tongs. But he was always running after everything 
that came in his way ; so no wonder. But, 'tween them 
both, I led a bad life of it. 

“ Well, things dragged kind along in this way. She had 
three children, and, at last, he was killed, one day, falling 


milly’s story. 


«* 'i T 

* J % 

off his horse when he was too drunk to hold the bridle. 
Good riddance, too, I thought. And den, after he ’s dead, 
Miss Harrit, she seemed to grow more quiet like, and set- 
ting herself picking up what pieces and crumbs was left for 
her and de children. And I ’member she had one of her 
uncles dere a good many days helping her in counting up 
de debts. Well, dey was talking one day in missis’ room, 
and dere was a little light closet on one side, where I got 
set down to do some fine stitching ; but dey was too busy 
in their ’counts to think anything ’bout me. It seemed 
dat de place and de people was all to be sold off to pay 
de debts, — all ’cept a few of us, who were to go off with 
missis, and begin again on a small place, — and I heard him 
telling her about it. 

'' ' While your children are small,’ he says, 'you can live 
small, and keep things close, and raise enough on the place 
for ye all ; and den you can be making the most of your 
property. Niggers is rising in de market. Since Missouri 
came in, they ’s worth double ; and so you can just sell de 
increase of ’em for a good sum. Now, there ’s that black 
girl Milly, of yourn.’ — You may be sure, now, I pricked 
up my ears, Miss Nina. — ' You don’t often see a girl of 
finer breed than she is,’ says he, just as if I ’d been a cow, 
you know. ' Have you got her a husband ? ’ 

" ' No,’ said Miss Harrit ; and then says she, ' I believe 
Milly is something of a coquette among the young men. 
She ’s never settled on anybody yet,’ says she. 

" ' Well,’ says he, ' that must be attended to, ’cause 
that girl’s children will be an estate of themselves. Why, 
I ’ve known women to have twenty ! and her children 
would n’t any of ’em be worth less than eight hundred dol- 
lars. There ’s a fortune at once. If dey ’s like her, dey ’ll 
be as good as cash in the market, any day. You can send 
out and sell one, if you happen to be in any straits, just 
as soon as you can draw a note on the bank ’ 

"0, laws, Miss Nina, I tell you dis yer fell on me like 
so much lead. ’Cause, you see, I ’d been keeping company 


milly’s story. 


witn a very nice young man, and I was going to ask Miss 
Harrit about it dat very day ; but, dere — I laid down my 
work dat minute, and thinks, says I, ' True as de Lord ' s 
in heaven I won't never be married in dis world ! ' And I 
cried 'bout it, off and on, all day, and at night I told Paul 
'bout it. He was de one, you know. But Paul, he tried 
to make it all smooth. He guessed it would n't happen ; he 
guessed missis would think better on 't. At any rate, we 
loved each other, and why should n't we take as much 
comfort as we could ? Well, I went to Miss Harrit, and 
told her just what I thought 'bout it. Allers had spoke 
my mind to Miss Harrit 'bout everything, and I wan't 
going to stop den. And she laughed at me, and told me 
not to cry 'fore I 's hurt. Well, things went on so two 
or three weeks, and finally Paul he persuaded me. And so 
we was married. When our first child was born, Paul was 
so pleased, he thought strange that I wan't. 

" * Paul,' said I, ‘ dis yer child an't ourn ; it may be took 
from us, and sold, any day.' 

" 'Well, well,' says he, ' Milly, it maybe God's child, any 
way, even if it an't ourn.' 

“ 'Cause, you see, Miss Nina, Paul, he was a Christian 
Ah, well, honey, I can't tell you ; after dat I had a great 
many chil'en, girls and boys, growing up round me. 
Well, I 's had fourteen chil'en, dear, and dey 's all been 
sold from me, every single one of 'em. Lord, it 's a heavy 
cross ! heavy, heavy ! None knows but dem dat bears 
it!" 

"What a shame!" said Nina. "How could Aunt 
Harriet be such a wicked woman ? — an aunt of mine do 
so!" 

"Chile, chile," said Milly, "we doesn’t none of us 
know what's in us. When Miss Harrit and I was gals 
together, hunting hens' eggs and rowing de boat in de 
river, — well, I would n't have thought it would have been 
so, and she would n't have thought so, neither. But, den, 
what little 's bad in girls when dey 's young and hand- 


milly’s story. 


213 


some, and all de world smiling on ’em — 0, honey, it gets 
drefful strong when dey gets grown women, and de 
wrinkles comes in der faces ! Always, when she was a girl , 

— whether it was eggs, or berries, or chincapins, or what, 

— it was Miss Harrit’s nature to get and to keep; and when 
she got old, dat all turned to money. ” 

“ 0 ! but,” said Nina, “ it does seem impossible that a 
woman — a lady born, too, and my aunt — could do such a 
thing 1 ” 

“ Ah, ah, honey ! ladies-born have some bad stuff in 
dem, sometimes, like de rest of us. But, dep, honey, it was 
de most natural thing in de world, come to look on ’t ; for 
now, see here, honey, dere was your aunt — she was poor, 
and she was pestered for money. Dere was Mas’r George’s 
bills and Peter’s bills to pay, and Miss Susy’s ; and every 
one of ’em must have everything, and dey was all call- 
ing for money, money ; and dere has been times she did n’t 
know which way to turn. Now, you see, when a woman is 
pestered to pay two hundred here and tree hundred dere, 
and when she has got more niggers on her place dan she 
can keep, and den a man calls in and lays down eight 
hundred dollars in gold and bills before her, and says, 1 1 
want dat ar Lucy or George of yourn,’ why, don’t you 
see ? Dese yer soul-drivers is always round, tempting folks 
dey know is poor ; and dey always have der money as 
handy as de devil has his. But, den, I oughtn’t fur to be 
hard upon dem poor soul-drivers, neither, ’cause dey an’t 
taught no better. It’s dese yer Christians, dat profess 
Christ, dat makes great talks ’bout religion, dat has der 
Bibles, and turns der backs upon swearing soul-drivers, 
and tinks dey an’t fit to speak to — it ’s dem, honey, dat ’s 
de root of de whole business. Now, dere was dat uncle of 
hern, — mighty great Christian he was, with his prayer- 
meetings, and all dat ! — he was always a putting her up to 
it. 0, dere’s been times — dere was times ’long first, Miss 
Nina, when my first chil’en was sold — dat, I tell you, 1 
poured out my soul to Miss Harrit, and I ’ve seen dat ar 


214 


milly’s story. 


woman cry so dat I was sorry for her. And she said t© 
me, ' Milly, I ’ll never do it again.’ But, Lord ! I did n’t 
trust her, — not a word on ’t, — ’cause I knowed she 
would. I knowed dere was dat in her heart dat de devil 
would n’t let go of. I knowed he ’d no kind of objection to 
her ’musing herself with meetin’s, and prayers, and all dat ; 
but he ’d no notion to let go his grip on her heart. 

“ But, Lord I she was n’t quite a bad woman, — poor Miss 
Harrit was n’t, — and she would n’t have done so bad, if it 
had n’t been for him. But he ’d come and have prayers, 
and exhort, and den come prowling round my place like a 
wolf, looking at my chil’en. 

u ‘ And, Milly,’ he ’d say, * how do you do now ? Lucy 
is getting to be a right smart girl, Milly. How old is she ? 
Dere ’s a lady in Washington has advertised for a maid, — 
a nice woman, a pious lady. I suppose you wouldn’t 
object, Milly ? Your poor mistress is in great trouble for 
money.’ 

“ I never said nothing to that man. Only once, when 
he asked me what I thought my Lucy would be worth, 
when she was fifteen years old, says I to him : 

“'Sir, she is worth to me just what your daughter is 
worth to you.’ 

“ Den I went in and shut de door. I did n’t stay to see 
how he took it. Den he ’d go up to de house, and talk to 
Miss Harrit. ’T was her duty, he ’d tell her, to take 
proper care of her goods. And dat ar meant selling my 
chil’en ! I ’member, when Miss Susy came home from 
boarding-school, she was a pretty girl; but I didn’t look 
on her very kind, I tell you, ’cause three of my chil’en 
had been sold to keep her at school. My Lucy, — ah, 
honey ! — she went for a lady’s maid. I knowed what dat 
ar meant, well enough. De lady had a son grown, and 
he took Lucy with him to Orleans, and dere was an end of 
dat. Dere don’t no letters go ’tween us. Once gone, we 
can’t write, and it is good as being dead. Ah, no, chile, 
not so good ! Paul used to teach Lucy little hymns, nights, 


milly’s story. 


215 


’fore she went to sleep. And if she ’d a died right off after 
one of dem, it would have been better for her. 0, honey, 
'long dem times, I used to rave and toss like a bull in a 
net — I did so ! 

“Well, honey, I wasn't what I was. I got cross and 
ugly. Miss Harrit, she grew a great Christian, and joined 
de church, and used to have heaps of ministers and 
elders at her house ; and some on ’em used to try and talk 
to me. I told ’em I ’d seen enough of dfer old religion, 
and I did n’t want to hear no more. But Paul, he was a 
Christian ; and when he talked to me, I was quiet, like, 
though I could n’t be like what he was. Well, last, my 
missis promised me one. She’d give me my youngest 
child, sure and certain. His name was Alfred. Well, dat 
boy 1 — I loved dat child better dan any of de rest of ’em. 
He was all I’d got left to love; for, when he was a year old, 
Paul’s master moved away down to Louisiana, and took 
him off, and I never heard no more of him. So it ’peared as 
if dis yer child was all I had left. Well, he was a bright 
boy. 0, he was most uncommon I He was so handy to 
anything, and saved me so many steps 1 0, honey, he had 

such ways with him — dat boy ! — would always make me 
laugh. He took after lamin’ mighty, and he larned himself 
to read ; and he ’d read de Bible to me, sometimes. I just 
brought him up and teached him de best way 1 could. All 
dat made me ’fraid for him was, dat he was so spirity. 
I ’s ’fraid ’t would get him into trouble. 

“ He wan’t no more spirity dan white folks would 
like der chil’en fur to be. When white children holds up 
der heads, and answers back, den de parents laugh, and 
eay, 1 He ’s got it in him 1 He ’s a bright one I ’ But, if 
one of ourn does so, it’s a drefful thing. I was allers 
talking to Alfred ’bout it, and telled him to keep humble . 
ft ’peared like there was so much in him, you could n’t keep 
it down. Laws, Miss Nina, folks may say what dey like 
about de black folks, dey ’ll never beat it out of my head ; 
— dere ’s some on ’em can be as smart as any white folks, 


216 


milly's story. 


if dey could have de same chance. How many white boys 
did you ever see would take de trouble for to teach their- 
selves to read ? And dat 's what my Alfred did. Laws, I 
had a mighty heap of comfort in him, 'cause I was think- 
iu' to get my missis to let me hire my time ; den I was 
going to work over hours, and get money, and buy him ; 
because, you see, chile, I knowed he was too spirity for a 
slave. You see he couldn’t learn to stoop; he would n't let 
nobody impose on him ; and he always had a word back 
again to give anybody as good as dey sent. Yet, for 
ail dat, he was a dear, good boy to me ; and when I used 
to talk to him, and tell him dese things was dangerous, 
he 'd always promise fur to be kerful. Well, things went 
on pretty well while he was little, and I kept him with me 
till he got to be about twelve or thirteen years old. He 
used to wipe de dishes, and scour de knives, and black de 
shoes, and such-like work. But, by and by, dey said it was 
time dat he should go to de reg’lar work ; an dat ar was de 
time I felt feared. Missis had an overseer, and he was 
real aggravating, and I felt feared dere 'd be trouble ; 
and sure enough dere was, too. Dere was always some- 
thin' brewing 'tween him and Alfred ; and he was always 
running to missis with tales, and I was talking to Alfred. 
But 'peared like he aggravated de boy so, dat he could n't 
do right. Well, one day, when I had been up to town 
for an errand, I come home at night, and I wondered 
Alfred didn't come home to his supper. I thought some- 
thing was wrong ; and I went to de house, and dere sat 
Miss Harrit by a table covered with rolls ot money, and 
dere she was a counting it. 

“ ‘ Miss Harrit,' says I, * I can't find Alfred. An't you 
seen him ? ' says I. 

“At first she didn't answer, but went on counting — 
fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three. Finally I spoke again. 

“ 1 I hope dere an't nothing happened to Alfred, Miss 
Harrit ? ' 

“ She looked up, and says she to me, 


milly’s story. 


217 


44 4 Milly,’ says she, 4 de fact is, Alfred has got too much 
for me to manage, and I had a great deal of money offered 
for him ; and I sold him.' 

44 1 felt something strong coming up in my throat, and I 
just went up and took hold of her shoulders, and said I, 

4 4 4 Miss Harrit, you took de money for thirteen of my 
chil’en, and you promised me, sure enough, I should have 
dis yer one. You call dat being a Christian ? ’ says I. 

44 4 Why/ says she, 4 Milly, he an’t a great way off; you 
can see him about as much. It’s only over to Mr. Jones’s 
plantation. You can go and see him, and he can come and 
see you. And you know you didn’t like the man who had 
the care of him here, and thought he was always getting 
him into trouble.’ 

44 4 Miss Harrit,’ says I, 4 you may cheat yourself saying 
dem things ; but you don’t cheat me, nor de Lord neither. 
You folks have de say all on your side, with your ministers 
preaching us down out of de Bible ; you won’t teach us to 
read. But I ’m going straight to de Lord with dis yer 
case. I tell you, if de Lord is to be found, I ’ll find him ; 
and I ’ll ask him to look on ’t, — de way you ’ve been treating 
me, — selling my chil’en, all the way ’long, to pay for your 
chil’en, and now breaking your word to me, and taking dis 
yer boy, de last drop of blood in my heart ! I ’ll pray de 
Lord to curse every cent of dat ar money to you and your 
chil’en ! ’ 

44 Dat ar was de way I spoke to her, child. I was poor, 
ignorant cretur, and didn’t know God, and my heart was like 
a red-hot coal. I turned and walked right straight out from 
her. I did n’t speak no more to her, and she did n’t speak 
no more to me. And when I went to bed at night, dar, 
sure ’nough, was Alfred’s bed in de corner, and his Sunday 
coat hanging up over it, and his Sunday shoes I had bought 
for him with my own money ; ’cause he was a handsome 
boy, and I wanted him always to look nice. Well, so, come 
Sunday morning, I took his coat and his shoes, and made 
a bundle of ’em, and I took my stick, and says I, 4 1 ’ll just 
19 


218 


milly’s story. 


go over to Jones’s place and see what has ’come of Alfred. 
All de time, I had n’t said a word to missis, nor she to 
me. Well, I got about half-way over to de place, and dere 
I stopped under a big hickory-tree to rest me a bit, and I 
looked along and seed some one a coming ; and pretty soon 
I knowed it was Huldah. She was one that married Paul’s 
cousin, and she lived on Jones’s place. And so I got up 
and went to meet her, and told her I was going over to see 
’bout Alfred. 

“‘Lord!’ says she, ‘ Milly, haven’t you heard dat 
Alfred ’s dead ? ’ 

“ Well, Miss Nina, it seemed as if my heart and every 
thing in it stopped still. And said I, ‘ Huldah, has dey 
killed him ? ’ 

** And said she, ' Yes.’ And she told me it was dis yer 
way: Dat Stiles — he dat was Jones’s overseer — had 
heard dat Alfred was dreadful spirity ; and when boys 
is so, sometimes dey aggravates ’em to get ’em riled, 
and den dey whips ’em to break ’em in. So Stiles, when 
he was laying off Alfred’s task, was real aggravating to him ; 
and dat boy — well, he answered back, just as he allers 
would be doing, ’cause he was smart, and it ’peared like he 
couldn’t keep it in. And den dey all laughed round dere, 
and den Stiles was mad, and swore he ’d whip him ; and 
den Alfred, he cut and run. And den Stiles he swore 
awful at him, and he told him to ‘ come here, and he ’d give 
him hell, and pay him de cash.’ Dem is de very words he 
said to my boy. And Alfred said he would n’t come back ; 
he wasn’t going to be whipped. And just den young 
Master Bill come along, and wanted to know what was de 
matter. So Stiles told him, and he took out his pistol, and 
said, ‘ Here, young dog, if you don l t come back before I 
count five, I ’ll fire ! ’ 

“ ‘ Fire ahead ! ’ says Alfred ; ’cause, you see, dat boy 
never knowed what fear was. And so he fired. And Hul- 
dah said he just jumped up and give one scream, and fell 
flat. And dey run up to him, and he was dead ; ’cause, 


milly’s story. 


219 


you see, de bullet went right through his heart. Well, dey 
took off his jacket and looked, but it wan’t of no use ; his 
face settled down still. And Iluldah said dat dey just dug 
a hole and put him in. Nothing on him — nothing round 
him — no coffin ; like he ’d been a dog. Huldah showed 
me de jacket. Dere was de hole, cut right round in it, 
like it was stamped, and his blood running out on it. I 
didn’t say a word. I took up de jacket, and wrapped it up 
with his Sunday clothes, and I walked straight — straight 
home. I walked up into missis’ room, and she was dressed 
for church, sure enough, and sat dere reading her Bible. 
I laid it right down under her face, dat jacket. 1 You see 
dat hole ! ’ said I ; 1 you see dat blood ! Alfred ’s killed ! 
You killed him ; his blood be on you and your chil’en ! 
0, Lord God in heaven, hear me, and render unto her 
double I ’ ” 

Nina drew in her breath hard, with an instinctive shudder. 
Milly had drawn herself up, in the vehemence of her narra- 
tion, and sat leaning forward, her black eyes dilated, her 
strong arms clenched before her, and her powerful frame ex- 
panding and working with the violence of her emotion. 
She might have looked, to one with mythological associations, 
like the figure of a black marble Nemesis in a trance of wrath. 
She sat so for a few minutes, and then her muscles relaxed, 
her eyes gradually softened ; she looked tenderly, but sol- 
emnly, down on Nina. “ Bern was awful words, chile ; but 
I was in Egypt den. I was wandering in de wilderness of 
Sinai. I had heard de sound of de trumpet, and de voice of 
words ; but, chile, I hadn’t seen de Lord. Well — I went 
out, and I did n’t speak no more to Miss Harrit. Dere was 
a great gulf fixed ’tween us ; and dere did n’t no words 
pass over it. I did my work — I scorned not to do it ; but I 
didn’t speak to her. Den it was, chile, dat I thought of what 
my mother told me, years ago ; it came to me, all fresh — 
1 Chile, when trouble comes, you ask de Lord to help you 
and I saw dat I had n’t asked de Lord to help me ; and 
now, says I to myself, de Lord can’t help me j ’cause he 


220 


milly’s story. 


could n’t bring back Alfred, no way you could fix it ; and 
yet I wanted to find de Lord, ’cause I was so tossed up 
and down. I wanted just to go and say, * Lord, you see 
what dis woman has done.’ I wanted to put it to him, if 
he ’d stand up for such a thing as that. Lord, how de 
world, and everything, looked to me in dem times ! Every- 
thing goin’ on in de way it did ; and dese yer Christians, 
dat said dat dey was going into de kingdom, doing as 
dey did ! I tell you, I sought de Lord early and late. 
Many nights I have been out in de woods and laid on de 
ground till morning, calling and crying, and ’peared like 
nobody heerd me. 0, how strange it used to look, when I 
looked up to de stars ! winking at me, so kind of still and 
solemn, but never saying a word ! Sometimes I got dat 
wild, it seemed as if I could tear a hole through de sky, 
’cause I must find God ; I had an errand to him, and I 
must find him. 

“ Den I heard ’em read out de Bible, ’bout how de 
Lord met a man on a threshing-floor, and I thought maybe 
if I had a threshing-floor he would come to me. So I 
threshed down a place just as hard as I could under .de 
trees ; and den I prayed dere — but he did n’t come. 
Den dere was coming a great camp-meeting ; and I 
thought I ’d go and see if I could find de Lord dere ; 
because, you see, missis, she let her people go Sunday to 
de camp-meeting. Well, I went into de tents and heerd 
dem sing ; and I went afore de altar, and I heerd preach- 
ing ; but it ’peared like it was no good. It did n’t touch 
me nowhere ; and I could n’t see nothing to it. I heerd 
’em read out of de Bible, * 0, dat I knew where I might 
find him. I would come even to his seat. I would order 
my cause before him. I would fill my mouth with argu- 
ments ;’ and I thought, sure enough, dat ar ’s just what I 
want. Well, came on dark night, and dey had all de 
camp-fires lighted up, and dey was singing de hymns 
round and round, and I went for to hear de preaching. 
And dere was a man — pale, lean man he was, with 


MILLY'S STORY. 221 

black eyes and black hair. Well, dat ar man, he preached 
a sermon, to be sure, I never shall forget. His text was, 
‘ He that spared not his own Son, but freely delivered him 
up for us all, how shall he not with him freely give us all 
things ? ’ Well, you see, the first sound of dis took me, 
because I ’d lost my son. And the man, he told us who 
de Son of God was, — Jesus, — 0, how sweet and beautiful 
he was ! How he went round doing for folks. 0, Lord, 
what a story dat ar was ! And, den, how dey took him, 
and put de crown of thorns on his head, and hung him up 
bleeding, bleeding, and bleeding ! God so loved us dat 
he let his own dear Son suffer all dat for us. Chile, I got 
up, and I went to de altar, and I kneeled down with de 
mourners ; and I fell flat on my face, and dey said I was 
in a trance. Maybe I was. Where I was, I don’t know ; 
but I saw de Lord ! Chile, it seemed as if my very heart 
was still. I saw him, suffering, bearing with us, year in 
and year out — bearing — bearing — bearing so patient ! 
’Peared like, it wan’t just on de cross ; but bearing always, 
everywhar ! 0, chile, I saw how he loved us ! — us all — « 

all — every one on us ! — we dat hated each other so 1 
’Peared like he was using his heart up for us, all de time — • 
bleedin’ for us like he did on Calvary, and willin’ to bleed I 
0, chile, I saw what it was for me to be hatin’, like I ’d 
hated. * 0, Lord,’ says I, ‘ I give up ! 0, Lord, I never see 

you afore ! I did n’t know. Lord, I ’s a poor sinner ! I 
won’t hate no more ! ’ And 0, chile, den dere come such a 
rush of love in my soul ! Says I, ‘ Lord, I ken love even de 
white folks ! ’ And den came another rush ; and says 1 , 1 Yes, 
Lord, I love poor Miss Harrit, dat ’s sole all my chil’en, and 
been de death of my poor Alfred ! I loves her.’ Chile, I 
overcome — I did so — I overcome by de blood of de 
Lamb — de Lamb ! — Yes, de Lamb, chile ! — ’cause if he ’d 
been a lion I could a kept in ; ’t was de Lamb dat over- 
come. 

“ When I come to, I felt like a chile. I went home to 
Miss Harrit ; and I had n’t spoke peaceable to her since 
If* 


222 


milly's story. 

Alfred died. I went in to her. She 'd been sick, and she 
was in her room, looking kinder pale and yaller, poor thing ; 
'cause her son, honey, he got drunk and 'bused her awful. 
I went in, and says I, ‘ 0, Miss Harrit, I 's seen de Lord ! 
Miss Harrit, I an’t got no more hard feelin's ; I forgive ye, 
and loves ye with all my heart, just as de Lord does.' 
Honey, ye ought to see how dat woman cried ! Says she, 

* Milly, I 's a great sinner.' Says I, ‘ Miss Harrit, we 's 
sinners, both on us, but de Lord gives hisself for us both ; 
and if he loves us poor sinners, we must n't be hard on each 
other. Ye was tempted, honey,' says I (for you see I felt 
like makin' scuses for her) ; ' but de Lord Jesus has got a 
pardon for both on us.' 

“ After dat, I didn't have no more trouble with Miss 
Harrit. Chile, we was sisters in Jesus. I bore her bur- 
dens, and she bore mine. And, dear, de burdens was heavy ; 
for her son he was brought home a corpse ; he shot hisself 
right through de heart, trying to load a gun when he was 
drunk. 0, chile, I thought den how I 'd prayed de Lord to 
render unto her double ; but I had a better mind den. Ef I 
could have brought poor Mas’r George to life, I 'd a done it ; 
and I held de poor woman's head on my arm all dat ar 
night, and she a screamin' every hour. Well, dat ar took 
her down to de grave. She did n't live much longer ; but 
she was ready to die. She sent and bought my daughter 
Lucy’s son, dis here Tom, and gin him to me. Poor thing ! 
she did all she could. 

“ I watched with her de night she died. 0, Miss Nina, 
if ever ye 're tempted to hate anybody, think how 't '11 be 
with 'em when dey comes to die. 

“ She died hard, poor thing ! and she was cast down 
'bout her sins. * 0, Milly,' says she, * the Lord and you 
may forgive me, but I can’t forgive myself.' 

“ And, says I to her, 1 0, missis, don't think of it no more ; 
de Lord’s hid it in his own heart 1 ’ 0, but she struggled 

long, honeys she was all night dyin', and 't was *■ Milly ! 
Milly ! ' all the time ; ‘0, Milly, stay with me 1 ' 


223 


MILLY’S STORY; 

“ And, chile, I felt I loved her like my own soul ; and 
when de day broke de Lord set her free, and I laid her 
down like she ’d been one o’ my babies. I took up her 
poor hand. It was warm, but the strength was all gone out 
on’t; and, 1 0/ I thought, ‘ye poor thing, how could I 
ever have hated ye so ? ’ Ah, chile, we must n’t hate no- 
body ; we ’s all poor creaturs, and de dear Lord he loves 
us all ” 


CHAPTER XV II. 


UNCLE JOHN. 

About four miles east of Canema lay the plantation of 
Nina’s uncle, whither Harry had been sent on the morning 
which we have mentioned. The young man went upon his 
errand in no very enviable mood of mind. Uncle Jack, as 
Nina always called him, was the nominal guardian of the 
estate, and a more friendly and indulgent one Harry could 
not have desired. He was one of those joyous, easy souls, 
whose leading desire seemed to be that everybody in the 
world should make himself as happy as possible, with- 
out fatiguing him with consultations as to particulars. 
His confidence in Harry was unbounded ; and he esteemed 
it a good fortune that it was so, as he was wont to say, 
laughingly, that his own place was more than he could 
manage. Like all gentlemen who make the study of their 
own ease a primary consideration, Uncle Jack found the whole 
course of nature dead-set against him. For, as all creation 
is evidently organized with a view to making people work, 
it follows that no one has so much care as the man who 
resolves not to take any. Uncle Jack was systematically, 
and as a matter of course, cheated and fleeced, by his over- 
seers, by his negroes, and the poor whites of his vicinity ; 
and, worst of all, continually hectored and lectured by his 
wife therefor. Nature, or destiny, or whoever the lady 
may be that deals the matrimonial cards, with her 
usual thoughtfulness in balancing opposites, had arranged 
that jovial, easy, care-hating Uncle John should have been 
united to a most undaunted and ever-active spirit of 


UNCLE JOHN. 


225 


\ & 

enterprise and resolution, who never left anything quiet in 
his vicinity. She it was who continually disturbed his 
repose, by constantly ferreting out, and bringing before his 
view, all the plots, treasons, and conspiracies, with which 
plantation-life is ever abounding ; bringing down on his 
devoted head the necessity of discriminations, decisions, 
and settlements, most abhorrent to an easy man. 

The fact was, that responsibility, aggravated by her hus- 
band’s negligence, had transformed the worthy woman into 
a sort of domestic dragon of the Hesperides ; and her good 
helpmeet declared that he believed she never slept, nor 
meant anybody else should. It was all very well, he would 
observe. He would n’t quarrel with her for walking the 
whole night long, or sleeping with her head out of the 
window, watching the smoke-house ; for stealing out after one 
o’clock to convict Pompey, or circumvent Cuff, if- she only 
would n’t bother him with it. Suppose the half of the hams 
were carried off, between two and three, and sold to Abijah 
Skinflint for rum ? — He must have his sleep ; and, if he had to 
pay for it in ham, why, he ’d pay for it in ham ; but sleep he 
must, and would. And, supposing he really believed, in 
his own soul, that Cuflfy, who came in the morning, with a 
long face, to announce the theft, and to propose measures 
of discovery, was in fact the main conspirator — what then ? 
He could n’t prove it on him. Cuff had gone astray from the 
womb, speaking lies ever since he was born ; and what would 
be the use of his fretting and sweating himself to death to get 
truth out of Cuff? No, no ! Mrs. G., as he commonly called 
his helpmeet, might do that sort of thing, but she must n’t 
bother him about it. Not that Uncle Jack was invariable in his 
temper ; human nature has its limits, and a personage who 
finds “ mischief still for idle hands to do ” often seems "to 
take a malicious pleasure in upsetting the temper of idle 
gentlemen. So, Uncle Jack, though confessedly the best 
fellow in the world, was occasionally subject to a tropical 
whirlwind of passion, in which he would stamp, tear, and 
swear, with most astounding energy ; and in those ignited 


226 


UNCLE JOHN. 


moments all the pent-up sorrows of his soul would fly about 
him, like red-hot shot, in every direction. And then he would 
curse the negroes, curse the overseers, curse the plantation, 
curse Cuff and Pomp and Dinah, curse the poor white folks 
round, curse Mr. Abijah Skinflint, and declare that he 
would send them and the niggers all severally to a depart- 
ment which politeness forbids us to mention. He would 
pour out awful threats of cutting up, skinning alive, and 
selling to Georgia. To all which commotion and bluster 
the negroes would listen, rolling the whites of their eyes, 
and sticking their tongues in their cheeks, with an air of 
great satisfaction and amusement ; because experience had 
sufficiently proved to them that nobody had ever been cut 
up, skinned alive, or sent to Georgia, as the result of any of 
these outpourings. So, when Uncle Jack had one of these 
fits, they treated it as hens do an approaching thunder- 
storm, — ran under cover, and waited for it to blow over. 

As to Madam Gordon, her wrath was another affair. And 
her threats they had learned to know generally meant some- 
thing ; though it very often happened that, in the dispensa- 
tion of most needed justice, Uncle Jack, if in an extra good 
humor, would rush between the culprit and his mistress, 
and bear him off in triumph, at the risk of most serious con- 
sequences to himself afterwards. Our readers are not to 
infer from this that Madam Gordon was really and naturally 
an ill-natured woman. She was only one of that denomina- 
tion of vehement housekeepers who are to be found the 
world over — women to whom is appointed the hard mis- 
sion of combating, single-handed, for the principles of order 
and exactness, against a whole world in arms. Had she had 
the good fortune to have been born in Vermont or Massa- 
chusetts, she would have been known through the whole 
village as a woman who could n’t be cheated half a cent on 
a pound in meat, and had an instinctive knowledge whether 
a cord of wood was too short, or a pound of butter too 
light. Put such a woman at the head of the disorderly rab- 
ble of a plantation, with a cheating overseer, surrounded by 


UNCLE JOHN. 


227 


thieving poor whites, to whom the very organization of so- 
ciety leaves no resource but thieving, with a never-mind hus- 
band, with land that has seen its best days, and is fast running 
to barrenness, and you must not too severely (question her 
temper, if it should not be at all times in perfect subjection. 
In fact, Madam Gordon's cap habitually bristled with hor- 
ror, and she was rarely known to sit down. Occasionally, 
it is true, she alighted upon a chair ; but was in a moment 
up again, to pursue some of her household train, or shout, 
at the top of her lungs, some caution toward the kitchen. 

When Harry reined up his horse before the plantation, 
the gate was thrown open for him by old Pomp, a super- 
annuated negro, who reserved this function as his peculiar 
sinecure. 

“ Lord bress you, Harry, dat you ? Bress you, you ought 
fur to see mas'r ! Such a gale up to de house ! ” 

“ What 's the matter, Pomp ? ” 

“ Why, mas'r, he done got one of he fits ! Tarin' round 
dar, fit to split ! — stompin' up and down de 'randy, 
swarin' like mad! Lord, if he an't ! He done got Jake 
tied up, dar! — swars he 's goin' to cut him to pieces ! He! 
he ! he ! Has so ! Got J ake tied up dar ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! 
Beal curus 1 And he 's blowin' hisself out dere mighty 
hard, I tell you ! So, if you want to get word wid him, you 
can't do it till he done got through with dis yer ! " And 
the old man ducked his pepper-and-salt-colored head, and 
chuckled with a lively satisfaction. 

As Harry rode slowly up the avenue to the house, he 
caught sight of the portly figure of its master, stamping 
up and down the veranda, vociferating and gesticulating in 
the most violent manner. He was a corpulent man, of mid- 
dle age, with a round, high forehead, set off with grizzled 
hair. His blue eyes, fair, rosy, fat face, his mouth adorned 
with brilliant teeth, gave him, when in good-humor, the air 
of a handsome and agreeable man. At present his coun- 
tenance was flushed almost to purple, as he stood storming, 
from his rostrum, at a saucy, ragged negro, who, tied to the 


228 


UNCLE JOHN. 


horse-post, stood the picture of unconcern ; while a crowd 
of negro men, women, and children, were looking on. 

“ I ’ll teach you ! ” he vociferated, shaking his list. “ 1 
won’t — won’t bear it of you, you dog, you ! You won’t 
take my orders, won’t you? I’ll kill you — that I will! 
I ’ll cut you up into inch-pieces ! ” 

“ No, you won’t, and you know you won’t ! ” interposed 
Mrs. Gordon, who sat at the window behind him. u You 
won’t, and you know you won’t ! and they know you won’t, 
too ! It will all end in smoke, as it always does. I only 
wish you would n’t talk and threaten, because it makes you 
ridiculous ! ” 

“ Hold your tongue, too ! I ’ll be master in my own 
house, I say ! Infernal dog ! — I say, Cuff, cut him up ! 

— Why don’t you go at him ? — Give it to him ! — What 
you waiting for ? ” 

11 If mas’r pleases ! ” said Cuff, rolling up his eyes, and 
making a deprecating gesture. 

“ If I please ! Well, blast you, I do please ! Go at him ! 

— thrash away ! Stay, I ’ll come myself.” And, seizing a 
cowhide, which lay near him, he turned up liis cuffs, and ran 
down the steps ; but, missing his footing in his zeal, came 
head-first against the very post where the criminal was tied. 

“ There ! I hope, now, you are satisfied ! You have 
killed me ! — you have broke my head, you have ! I shall 
be laid up a month, all for you, you ungrateful dog ! ” 

Cuffy and Sambo came to the rescue, raised him up 
carefully, and began brushing the dust off his clothes, 
smothering the laughter with which they seemed ready to 
explode, while the culprit at the post seemed to considei 
this an excellent opportunity to put in his submission. 

“ Please, mas’r, do forgive me ! I tole ’em to go out, 
and dey said dey would n’t. I did n’t mean no harm when 
I said ‘Mas’r had better go hisself;’ ’cause I thinks so 
now. Mas’r had better go ! Dem folks is curus, and dey 
won’t go for none of us. Dey just acts ridiculous, dey 
does ! And I did n’t mean fur to be sarcy, nor nothin’ 


UNCLE JOHN. 


229 


I say ’gin, if mas’r ’ll take his horse and go over dar, 
mas’r drive dose folks out ; and nobody else can’t do it ! 
We done can’t do it — dey jest sarce us. Now, for my 
Heavenly Master, all dis yere is de truth I ’ve been telling. 
De Lord, de Master, knows it is ; and, if mas’r ’ll take 
his horse, and ride down dere, he ’d see so ; so dere, just as 
I ’ve been telling mas’r. I did n’t mean no harm at all, I 
did n’t ! ” 

The quarrel, it must be told, related to the ejecting of a 
poor white family, which had squatted, as the phrase is, in a 
deserted cabin, on a distant part of the Gordon plantation. 
Mrs. Gordon’s untiring assiduity having discovered this 
fact, she had left her husband no peace till something was 
undertaken in the way of ejectment. He accordingly com- 
missioned Jake, a stout negro, on the morning of the pres- 
ent day, to go over and turn them off. Now, Jake, who 
inherited to the full the lofty contempt with which the 
plantation negro regards the poor white folks, started upon 
his errand, nothing loth, and whistled his way in high 
feather, with two large dogs at his heels. But, when he 
found a miserable, poor, sick woman, surrounded by four 
starving children, Jake’s mother’s milk came back to him ; 
and, instead of turning them out, he actually pitched a dish 
of cold potatoes in among them, which he picked up in a 
neighboring cabin, with about the same air of contemptuous 
pity with which one throws scraps to a dog. And then, 
meandering his way back to the house, informed his master 
that “ He could n’t turn de white trash out ; and, if he 
wanted them turned out, he would have to go hisself.” 

Now, we all know that a fit of temper has very often 
nothing to do with the thing which appears to give rise to 
it. When a cloud is full charged with electricity, it makes 
no difference which bit of wire is put in. The flash and the 
thunder come one way as well as another. Mr. Gordon had 
received troublesome letters on business, a troublesome lec- 
ture from his wife, his corn-cake had been over-done at break- 
fast, and his coffee burned bitter ; besides which, he had a cold 
20 


230 


UNCLE JOHN. 


in his head coming on, and there was a settlement brewing 
with the overseer. In consequence of all which things, 
though Jake’s mode of delivering himself was n’t a whit 
more saucer than ordinary, the storm broke upon him then 
and there, and raged as we have described. The heaviest 
part of it, however, being now spent, Mr. Gordon consented 
to pardon the culprit on condition that he would bring him 
up his horse immediately, when he would ride over and see 
if he could n’t turn out the offending party. He pressed 
Harry, who was rather a favorite of his, into the service ; 
and, in the course of a quarter of an hour, they were riding 
off in the direction of the squatter’s cabin. 

“ It ’s perfectly insufferable, what we proprietors have to 
bear from this tribe of creatures ! ” he said. “ There ought 
to be hunting-parties got up to chase them down, and ex- 
terminate ’em, just as we do rats. It would be a kindness 
to them ; the only thing you can do for them is to kill them. 
As for charity, or that kind of thing, you might as well 
throw victuals into the hollow logs as to try to feed ’em. 
The government ought to pass laws, — we will have laws, 
somehow or other, — and get them out of the state.” 

And, so discoursing, the good man at length arrived 
before the door of a miserable, decaying log-cabin, out of 
whose glassless windows dark emptiness looked, as out of 
the eye-holes of a skull. Two scared, cowering children 
disappeared round the corner as he approached. He 
kicked open the door, and entered. Crouched on a pile of 
dirty straw, sat a miserable, haggard woman, with large, 
wild eyes, sunken cheeks, dishevelled, matted hair, and 
long, lean hands, like bird’s-claws. At her skinny breast 
an emaciated infant was hanging, pushing, with its little 
skeleton hands, as if to force the nourishment which nature 
no longer gave ; and two scared-looking children, with feat- 
ures wasted and pinched blue with famine, were clinging to 
her gown. The whole group huddled together, drawing as 
far as possible away from the new comer, looked up with 
large, frightened eyes, like hunted wild animals. 


UNCLE JOHN. 


231 


“ What you here for ? " was the first question of Mr. 
Gordon, put in no very decided tone ; for, if the truth must 
be told, his combativeness was oozing out. 

The woman did not answer, and, after a pause, the young- 
est child piped up, in a shrill voice, 

“ An’t got nowhere else to be ! " 

11 Yes,” said the woman, “ we camped on Mr. Duranfafe 
place, and Bobfield — him is the overseer — pulled down the 
cabin right over our head. Tears like we could n't get 
nowhere." 

“ Where is your husband ? " 

“ Gone looking for work. Tears like he could n't get 
none nowhere. Tears like nobody wants us. But we have 
got to be somewhere, though ! " said the woman, in a mel- 
ancholy, apologetic tone. “ We can't die, as I see ! — wish 
we could I " 

Mr. Gordon’s eye fell upon two or three cold potatoes in 
a piece of broken crock, over which the woman appeared 
keeping jealous guard. 

“ What you doing with those potatoes ? " 

“ Saving them for the children's dinner." 

“ And is that all you 've got to eat, I want to know ? " 
said Mr. Gordon, in a high, sharp tone, as if he were get- 
ting angry very fast. 

“ Yes," said the woman. 

“ What did you have to eat yesterday ? " 

“ Nothing ! " said the woman. 

“ And what did you eat the day before ? " 

“Found some old bones round the nigger houses ; and 
some on 'em give us some corn-cake." 

“ Why the devil did n't you send up to my house, and get 
some bacon ? Picking up bones, slop, and swill, round the 
nigger huts ? Why did n't you send up for some ham, and 
some meal ? Lord bless you, you don’t think Madam Gor- 
don is a dog, to bite you, do you? Wait here till I send 
you down something fit to eat. Just end in my having to 
take care of you, I see ! And, if you are going to stay 


232 


UNCLE JOHN. 


here, there will be something to be done to keep the rain 
out ! ” 

“ There, now,” he said to Harry, as he was mounting his 
horse, “just see what 'tis to be made with hooks in one's 
back, like me ! Everybody hangs on to me, of course ! 
Now, there 's Durant turns off these folks ; there 's Peters 
turns them off! Well, what's the consequence? They 
come and litter down on me, just because I am an easy, soft- 
hearted old fool ! It 's too devilish bad ! They breed like 
rabbits ! What God Almighty makes such people for, I 
don't know ! I suppose He does. But there 's these poor, 
miserable trash have children like sixty ; and there 's folks 
living in splendid houses, dying for children, and can't have 
any. If they manage one or two, the scarlet-fever or whoop- 
ing-cough makes off with 'em. Lord bless me, things go 
on in a terrible mixed-up way in this world ! And, then, 
what upon earth I 'm to say to Mrs. G. ! I know what 
she '11 say to me. She '11 tell me she told me so — 
that 's what she always says. I wish she 'd go and see 
them herself — I do so ! Mrs. G. is the nicest kind of a 
woman — no mistake about that ; but she has an awful 
deal of energy, that woman ! It 's dreadful fatiguing to a 
quiet man, like me — dreadful ! But I 'm sure I don't know 
what I should do without her. She '11 be down upon me 
about this woman ; but the woman must have some ham, 
that 's flat ! Cold potatoes and old bones ! Pretty story ! 
Such people have no business to live at all ; but, if they will 
live, they ought to eat Christian things ! There goes Jake. 
Why could n't he turn 'em off before I saw 'em ? It would 
have saved me all this plague ! Dog knew what he was 
about, when he got me down here ! Jake ! 0, Jake, Jake ! 
come here ! ” 

Jake came shambling along up to his master, with an ex- 
ternal appearance of the deepest humility, under which was 
too plainly seen to lurk a facetious air of waggish satisfac- 
tion. 

“Here, you, Jake ; you get a basket — ” 


UNCLE JOHN. 


233 


“Yes, masY! ” said Jake, with an air of provoking in- 
telligence. 

“ Be still saying 1 Yes, masY/ and hear what I Ye got to 
say ! Mind yourself! ” 

J ake gave a side glance of inexpressible drollery at Har- 
ry, and then stood like an ebony statue of submission. 

“You go to your missis, and ask her for the key of the 
smoke-house, and bring it to me.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And you tell your missis to send me a peck of meal. 
Stay — a loaf of bread, or some biscuit, or corn-cake, or 
anything else which may happen to be baked up. Tell her 
I want them sent out right away.” 

Jake bowed and disappeared. 

“ Now we may as well ride down this path, while he is 
gone for the things. Mrs. G. will blow off on him first, so 
that rather less of it will come upon me. I wish I could 
get her to see them herself. Lord bless her, she is a kind- 
hearted woman enough ! but she thinks there Y no use do- 
ing, — and there anY. She is right enough about it. But, 
then, as the woman says, there must be some place for them 
to be in the world. The world is wide enough, I ? m sure ! 
Plague take it ! why can’t we pass a law to take them all in 
with our niggers, and then they ’d have some one to take 
care of them ! Then we ’d do something for them, and 
there ’d be some hope of keeping ’em comfortable.” 

Harry felt in no wise inclined to reply to any of this con- 
versation, because he knew that, though nominally addressed 
to him, the good gentleman was talking merely for the sake 
of easing his mind, and that he would have opened his heart 
just as freely to the next hickory-bush, if he had not hap- 
pened to be present. So he let him expend himself, waiting 
for an opportunity to introduce subjects which lay nearer 
his heart. 

In a convenient pause, he found opportunity to say, 

“Miss Nina sent me over here, this morning.” 

“ Ah, Nin ! my pretty little Nin ! Bless the child! She 
20 * 


234 


UNCLE JOHN. 


did ? Why could n’t she come over herself, and comfort an 
old fellow’s heart ? Nin is the prettiest girl in the county ! 
I tell you that, Harry ! ” 

“ Miss Nina is in a good deal of trouble. Master Tom 
came home last night drunk, and to-day he is so cross and 
contrary she can’t do anything with him.” 

“ Drunk ? 0, what a sad dog ! Tom gets drunk too often I 
Carries that too far, altogether ! Told him that, the last 
time I talked to him. Says I, ' Tom, it does very well for a 
young man to have a spree once in one or two months. I 
did it myself, when I was young. But,’ says I, ‘ Tom, to 
spree all the time, won’t do, Tom ! ’ says I. ‘ Nobody minds 
a fellow being drunk occasionally ; but he ought to be mod- 
erate about it, and know where to stop,’ says I ; ' because, 
when it comes to that, that he is drunk every day, or every 
other day, why, it ’s my opinion that he may consider the 
devil ’s got him ! ’ I talked to Tom just so, right out 
square ; because, you see, I ’m in a father’s place to him. 
But, Lord, it don’t seem to have done him a bit of good ! 
Good Lord ! they tell me he is drunk one half his time, and 
acts like a crazy creature ! Goes too far, Tom does, alto- 
gether. Mrs. G. an’t got any patience with him. She 
blasts at him every time he comes here, and he blasts 
at her ; so it an’t very comfortable having him here. Good 
woman at heart, Mrs. Gordon, but a little strong in her 
ways, you know ; and Tom is strong, too. So it ’s fire fight 
fire, when they get together. It ’s no ways comfortable to 
a man wanting to have everybody happy around him. Lord 
bless me ! I wish Nin were my daughter ! Why can’t she 
come over here, and live with me ? She has n’t got any 
more spirit in her than just what I like. Just enough fizz 
in her to keep one from flatting out. What about those 
beaux of hers ? Is she going to be married ? Hey ? ” 

“There’s two gentlemen there, attending upon Miss 
Nina. One is Mr. Carson, of New York — ” 

“ Hang it all ! she is n’t going to marry a d d Yan- 

kee ! Why, brother would turn over in his grave ! ” 


UNCLE JOHN. 


235 


“ I don’t think it will be necessary to put himself to that 
trouble/’ said Harry, “ for I rather think it ’s Mr. Clay- 
ton who is to be the favored one.” 

“ Clayton ! good blood ! — like that ! Seems to be a 
gentlemanly, good fellow, does n’t he ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. He owns a plantation, I ’m told, in South 
Carolina.” 

“ Ah ! ah ! that ’s well ! But I hate to spare Nin ! I 
never half liked sending her off to New York. Don’t be- 
lieve in boarding-schools. I ’ve seen as fine girls grown on 
plantations as any man need want. What do we want to 
send our girls there, to get fipenny-bit ideas ? I thank the 
Lord, I never was in New York, and I never mean to be ! 
Carolina born and raised, I am ; and my wife is Virginia — 
pure breed ! No boarding-school about her ! And, when I 
stood up to be married to her, there was n’t a girl in Vir- 
ginia could stand up with her. Her cheeks were like dam- 
ask roses ! A tall, straight, lively girl, she was ! Knew 
her own mind, and had a good notion of speaking it, too. 
And there is n’t a woman, now, that can get through the 
business she can, and have her eyes always on everything. 
If it does make me uncomfortable, every now and then, I 
ought to take it, and thank the Lord for it. For, if it wan’t 
for her, what with the overseer, and the niggers, and the 
poor white trash, we should all go to the devil in a heap ! ” 

“ Miss Nina sent me over here to be out of Master Tom’s 
way,” said Harry, after a pause. “ He is bent upon hec- 
toring me, as usual. You know, sir, that he always had a 
spite against me, and it seems to grow more and more bitter. 
He quarrels with her about the management of everything 
on the place ; and you know, sir, that I try to do my very 
best, and you and Mrs. Gordon have always been pleased 
to say that I did well.” 

“ So we did, Harry, my boy ! So we did ! Stay here as 
long as you like. Just suit yourself about that. Maybe 
you ’d like to go out shooting with me.” 

** I ’m worried,” said Harry, “ to be obliged to be away 


236 


UNCLE JOHN. 


just at the time of putting in the seed. Everything depends 
upon my overseeing.” 

“ Why don’t you go back, then ? Tom’s ugliness is 
nothing but because he is drunk. There ’s where it is ! I 
see through it ! You see, when a fellow has had a drunken 
spree, why, the day after it he is all at loose ends and cross 
— nerves all ravelled out, like an old stocking. Then fellows 
are sulky and surly like. I ’ve heard of their having tem- 
perance societies up in those northern states, and I think 
something of that sort would be good for our young men. 
They get drunk too often. Full a third of them, I should 
reckon, get the delirium tremens before they are fifty. If 
we could have a society like them, and that sort of thing, 
and agree to be moderate ! Nobody expects young men to 
be old before their time ; but, if they ’d agree not to blow 
out more than once a month, or something in that way 1 ” 

“ I ’m afraid,” said Harry, “ Master Tom ’s too far gone 
for that.” 

“ 0, ay ! yes ! Pity, pity ! Suppose it is so. Why, 
when a fellow gets so far, he ’s like a nigger’s old patched 
coat — you can’t tell where the real cloth is. Now, Tom ; I 
suppose he never is himself — always up on a wave, or 
down in the trough ! Heigho ! I ’m sorry ! ” 

“ It ’s very hard on Miss Nina,” said Harry. “ He inter- 
feres, and I have no power to stand for her. And, yester- 
day, he began talking to my wife in a way I can’t bear, nor 
won’t ! He must let her alone ! ” 

“ Sho ! sho ! ” said Mr. Gordon. “ See what a boy that 
is, now ! That an’t in the least worth while — that an’t I 
I shall tell Tom so. And, Harry, mind your temper ! Ke- 
member, young men will be young ; and, if a fellow will 
treat himself to a pretty wife, he must expect trials. But 
Tom ought not to do so. I shall tell him. High ! there 
comes Jake, with the basket and the smoke-house key : 
Now for something to send down to those poor hobgoblins. 
If people are going to starve, they must n’t come on to my 
place to do it. I dm’t mind what I don’t see — I wouldn’t 


UNCLE JOHN. 


237 


mind if the whole litter of ’em was drowned to-morrow ; but, 
hang it, I can’t stand it if I know it ! So, here, Jake, take 
this ham and bread, and look ’em up an old skillet, and see 
if you can’t tinker up the house a bit. I ’d set the fellow 
to work, when he comes back ; only we have two hands to 
every turn, now, and the niggers always plague ’em. Har- 
ry, you go home, and tell Nin Mrs. G. and I will be over to 
dinner.” 


/ 





CHAPTER XVIII. 


DRED. 

Harry spent the night at the place of Mr. J ohn Gordon, 
and arose the next morning in a very discontented mood of 
mind. Nothing is more vexations to an active and enter- 
prising person than to be thrown into a state of entire idle- 
ness ; and Harry, after lounging about for a short time in 
the morning, found his indignation increased by every mo- 
ment of enforced absence from the scene of his daily labors 
and interests. Having always enjoyed substantially the 
privileges of a freeman in the ability to regulate his tipe 
according to his own ideas, to come and go, to buy and 
sell, and transact business unfettered by any felt control, he 
was the more keenly alive to the degradation implied in his 
present position. 

“ Here I must skulk around,’ ’ said he to himself, “ like a 
partridge in the bushes, allowing everything to run at loose 
ends, preparing the way for my being found fault with for a 
lazy fellow, by and by ; and all for what ? Because my 
younger brother chooses to come, without right or reason, 
to domineer over me, to insult my wife ; and because the 
laws will protect him in it, if he does it ! Ah I ah ! that ’s 
it. They are all leagued together ! No matter how right I 
am — no matter how bad he is ! Everybody will stand up 
for him, and put me down ; all because my grandmother 
was born in Africa, and his grandmother was born in Amer- 
ica. Confound it all, I won’t stand it ! Who knows what 
he ’ll be saying and doing to Lisette while I am gone ? I ’ll 
go back and face him, like a man I I ’ll keep straight about 


DRED. 


239 


my business, and, if he crosses me, let him take care ! lie 
has n’t got but one life, any more than I have. Let him look 
out ! ” 

And Harry jumped upon his horse, and turned his head 
homeward. He struck into a circuitous path, which led 
along that immense belt of swampy land, to which the 
name of Dismal has been given. As he was riding along, 
immersed in thought, the clatter of horses’ feet was heard 
in front of him. A sudden turn of the road brought him 
directly facing to Tom Gordon and Mr. Jekyl, who had 
risen early and started off on horseback, in order to reach 
a certain stage-depot before the heat of the day. There 
was a momentary pause on both sides ; when Tom Gordon, 
like one who knows his power, and is determined to use it 
to the utmost, broke out, scornfully : 

“ Stop, you damned nigger, and tell your master where 
you are going ! ” 

u You are not my master I ” said Harry, in words whose 
concentrated calmness conveyed more bitterness and wrath 
than could have been given by the most violent outburst. 

11 You d d whelp ! ” said Tom Gordon, striking him 

across the face twice with his whip, “take that , and that! 
We ’ll see if I ’m not your master ! There, now, help your- 
self, won’t you ? Is n’t that a master’s mark? ” 

It had been the life-long habit of Harry’s position to 
repress every emotion of anger within himself. But, at 
this moment, his face wore a deadly and frightful expres- 
sion. Still, there was something majestic and almost com- 
manding in the attitude with which he reined back his 
horse, and slowly lifted his hand to heaven. He tried to 
speak, but his voice was choked with repressed passion. 
At last he said : 

“ You may be sure, Mr. Gordon, this mark will never 
be forgotten I ” 

There are moments of high excitement, when all that is in 
a human being seems to be roused, and to concentrate itself 
in the eye and the voice. And, in such moments, any man, 


240 


DRED. 


apparently by virtue of his mere humanity, by the mere 
awfulness of the human soul that is in him, gains power to 
over-awe those who in other hours scorn him. There was 
a minute’s pause, in which neither spoke ; and Mr. Jekyl, 
who was a man of peace, took occasion to touch Tom’s 
elbow, and say : 

“ It seems to me this is n’t worth while — we shall miss 
the stage.” And, as Harry had already turned his horse 
and was riding away, Tom Gordon turned his, shouting 
after him, with a scornful laugh : 

“ I called on your wife before I came away, this morning, 
and I liked her rather better the second time than I did tho 
first 1 ” 

This last taunt flew like a Parthian arrow backward, and 
struck into the soul of the bondman with even a keener 
power than the degrading blow. The sting of it seemed to 
rankle more bitterly as he rode along, till at last he dropped 
the reins on his horse’s neck, and burst into a transport of 
bitter cursing. 

“ Aha ! aha ! it has come nigh thee, has it ? It toucheth 
thee, and thou faintest ! ” said a deep voice from the swampy 
thicket beside him. 

Harry stopped his horse and his imprecations. There was 
a crackling in the swamp, and a movement among the copse 
of briers ; and at last the speaker emerged, and stood before 
Harry. He was a tall black man, of magnificent stature 
and proportions. His skin was intensely black, and pol- 
ished like marble. A loose shirt of red flannel, which 
opened very wide at the breast, gave a display of a neck 
and chest of herculean strength. The sleeves of the shirt, 
rolled up nearly to the shoulders, showed the muscles of 
a gladiator. The head, which rose with an imperial air 
from the broad shoulders, was large and massive, and de- 
veloped with equal force both in the reflective and percep- 
tive department. The perceptive organs jutted like dark 
ridges over the eyes, while that part of the head which 
phrenologists attribute to the moral and intellectual senti- 


DRED. 


241 


ments,rose like an ample dome above them. The large eyes 
had that peculiar and solemn effect of unfathomable black- 
ness and darkness which is often a striking characteristic 
of the African eye. But there burned in them, like tongues 
of flame in a black pool of naphtha, a subtle and restless fire, 
that betokened habitual excitement to the verge of insanity. 
If any organs were predominant in the head, they were those 
of ideality, wonder, veneration, and firmness ; and the whole 
combination was such as might have formed one of the wild 
old warrior prophets of the heroic ages. He wore a fantastic 
sort of turban, apparently of an old scarlet shawl, which 
added to the outlandish effect of his appearance. His nether 
garments, of coarse negro-cloth, were girded round the 
waist by a strip of scarlet flannel, in which was thrust a 
bowie-knife and hatchet. Over one shoulder he carried a 
rifle, and a shot-pouch was suspended to his belt. A rude 
game-bag hung upon his arm. Wild and startling as the 
apparition might have been, it appeared to be no stranger to 
Harry ; for, after the first movement of surprise, he said, in 
a tone of familiar recognition, in which there was blended 
somewhat of awe and respect : 

“ 0, it is you, then, Dred ! I did n’t know that you 
were hearing me ! ” 

“ Have I not heard ? ” said the speaker, raising his arm, 
and his eyes gleaming with wild excitement. “ How long 
wilt thou halt between two opinions ? - Did not Moses re- 
fuse to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter ? How long 
wilt thou cast in thy lot with the oppressors of Israel, who 
say unto thee, ‘ Bow down that we may walk over thee ’ ? 
Shall not the Red Sea be divided ? ‘Yea,’ saith the Lord, 
‘ it shall.’ ” 

“ Dred ! I know what you mean I ” said Harry, trem- 
bling with excitement. 

“ Yea, thou dost ! ” said the figure. “ Yea, thou dost ! 
Hast thou not eaten the fat and drunk the sweet with the 
oppressor, and hid thine eyes from the oppression of thy 
people ? Have not our wives been for a prey, and thou 
21 


242 


DRED. 


hast not regarded ? Hath not our cheek been given to the 
smiter ? Have we not been counted as sheep for the slaugh- 
ter ? But thou saidst, Lo ! I knew it not, and didst hide 
thine eyes ! Therefore, the curse of Meroz is upon thee, 
saith the Lord. And thou shalt bow down to the oppressor, 
and his rod shall be upon thee ; and thy wife shall be for 
a prey ! ” 

** Don’t talk in that way ! — don’t ! ” said Harry, striking 
out his hands with a frantic gesture, as if to push back the 
words. “ You are raising the very devil in me ! ” 

“ Look here, Harry,” said the other, dropping from the 
high tone he at first used to that of common conversation, 
and speaking in bitter irony, “ did your master strike you ? 
It ’s sweet to kiss the rod, is n’t it ? Bend your neck and 
ask to be struck again ! — won’t you ? Be meek and lowly ! 
that ’s the religion for you ! You are a slave, and you wear 
broadcloth, and sleep soft. By and by he will give you a 
fip to buy salve for those cuts ! Don’t fret about your wife ! 
Women always like the master better than the slave ! Why 
should n’t they ? When a man licks his master’s foot, his 
wife scorns him, — serves him right. Take it meekly, my 
boyl * Servants, obey your masters.’ Take your master’s 
old coats — take your wife when he ’s done with her — and 
bless God that brought you under the light of the Gospel ! 
Go ! you are a slave ! But, as for me,” he said, drawing 
up his head, and throwing back his shoulders with a 
deep inspiration, “I am a free man! Free by this,” 
holding out his rifle. “Free by the Lord of hosts, that 
numbereth* the stars, and calleth them forth by their names. 
Go home — that’s all I have to say to you ! You sleep in a 
curtained bed. — I sleep on the ground, in the swamps! 
You eat the fat of the land. I have what the ravens bring 
me ! But no man whips me ! — no man touches my wife > 
— no man says to me, ' Why do ye so ? ’ Go ! you are & 
slave! — I am free!” And, with one athletic bound, he 
sprang into the thicket, and was gone. 

The effect of this address on the already excited mind of 


DEED. 


243 


the bondman may be better conceived than described. lie 
ground his teeth, and clenched his hands. 

“ Stop ! " he cried, “ Dred, I will — I will — I 'll do as 
you tell me — I will not be a slave ! " 

A scornful laugh was the only reply, and the sound of 
crackling footsteps retreated rapidly. He who retreated 
struck up, in a clear, loud voice, one of those peculiar mel- 
odies in which vigor and spirit are blended with a wild, in- 
expressible mournfulness. The voice was one of a singular 
and indescribable quality of tone ; it was heavy as the sub- 
bass of an organ, and of a velvety softness, and yet it 
seemed to pierce the air with a keen dividing force which 
is generally characteristic of voices of much less volume. 
The words were the commencement of a wild camp-meeting 
hymn, much in vogue in those parts : 

“ Brethren, don’t you hear the sound ? 

The martial trumpet now is blowing ; 

Men in order listing round, 

And soldiers to the standard flowing.” 

There was a wild, exultant fulness of liberty that rolled in 
the note ; and, to Harry's excited ear, there seemed in it a 
fierce challenge of contempt to his imbecility, and his soul 
at that moment seemed to be rent asunder with a pang such 
as only those can know who have felt what it is to be a 
slave. There was an uprising within him, vague, tumult- 
uous, overpowering ; dim instincts, heroic aspirations ; the 
will to do, the soul to dare ; and then, in a moment, there 
followed the picture of all society leagued against him, the 
hopeless impossibility of any outlet to what was burning 
within him. The waters of a nature naturally noble, pent 
up, and without outlet, rolled b^gk upon his heart with a 
suffocating force ; and, in his hasty anguish, he cursed the 
day of his birth. The spasm of his emotion was inter- 
rupted by the sudden appearance of Milly coming along 
the path. 

“ Why, bless you, Milly," said Harry, in sudden sur- 
prise, “ where are you going ? " 


244 


DEED. 


“ 0, bless you, honey, chile, I 's gwine on to take de 
stage. Dey wanted to get up de wagon for me ; but, bless 
you, says I, what you s'pose de Lord gin us legs for ? I 
never wants no critturs to tug me round, when I can walk 
myself. And, den, honey, it 's so pleasant like, to be a 
walking along in de bush hero, in de morning ; 'pears like 
de voice of de Lord is walking among de trees. But, 
bless you, chile, honey, what 's de matter o' yer face ? " 

11 It 's Tom Gordon, d n him ! " said Harry. 

“ Don't talk dat ar way, chile ! " said Milly ; using the 
freedom with Harry which her years and weight of charac- 
ter had gradually secured for her among the members of the 
plantation. 

“ I will talk that way ! Why should n't I ? I am not 
going to be good any longer." 

“ Why, 't won't help de matter to be bad, will it, Harry ? 
'Cause you hate Tom Gordon, does you want to act just like 
him ? " 

“ No ! " said Harry, “ I won’t be like him, but I '11 have 
my revenge 1 Old Dred has been talking to me again, this 
morning. He always did stir me up so that I could hardly 
live ; and I won't stand it any longer I " 

“ Chile," said Milly, “ you take care ! Keep clear on 
him ! He 's in de wilderness of Sinai ; he is with de black- 
ness, and darkness, and tempest. He han’t come to de 
heavenly Jerusalem. 0 ! 0 ! honey ! dere 's a blood of 
sprinkling dat speaketh better things dan dat of Abel. 
J erusalem above is free — is free , honey ; so, don't you 
mind, now, what happens in dis yer time." 

“ Ah, ah, Aunt Milly 1 this may do well enough for old 
women like you ; but, staM opposite to a young fellow like 
me, with good strong armsfand a pair of doubled fists, and 
a body and soul just as full of fight as they can be ; it don't 
answer to go to telling about a heavenly Jerusalem ! We 
want something here. We '11 have it too ! How do you 
know there is any heaven, any how ? " 

“ Know it ? " said Milly, her eye kindling, and striking her 


DEED. 


245 


staff on the ground. “ Know it ? I knows it by de han- 
kering arter it I got in here ; ” giving her broad chest a 
blow which made it resound like a barrel. “ De Lord 
knowed what he was ’bout when he made us. When he 
made babies rooting round, with der poor little mouths 
open, he made milk, and de mammies for ’em too. Chile, 
we ’s nothing but great babies, dat an’t got our eyes 
opened — rooting round and round ; but de Father ’ll feed 
us yet — he will so.” 

“ He ’s a long time about it,” said Harry, sullenly. 

“ Well, chile, an’t it a long time ’fore your corn sprouts — 
a long time ’fore it gets into de ears ? — but you plants, for 
all dat. What ’s dat to me what I is here : — Shan’t I reign 
with de Lord Jesus ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Harry. 

“ Well, honey, I does! Jest so sure as I ’s standing on 
dis yer ground, I knows in a few years I shall be reign- 
ing with de Lord Jesus, and a casting my crown at his 
feet Dat ’s what I knows. Flesh and blood did n’t reveal 
it unto me, but de Spirit of de Father. It ’s no odds to me 
what I does here ; every road leads straight to glory, and 
de glory an’t got no end to it ! ” And Milly uplifted her 
voice in a favorite stave — 

“ When wo ’ve been dere ten thousand years, 

Bright shining like de sun, 

We ’ve no less days to sing God’s praise 
Than when we first begun.” 


“ Chile,” said she to him, solemnly, “ I an’t a fool. 
Does ye s’pose dat I thinks folks has any business to be 
sitting on der cheers all der ufe long, and working me, 
and living on my money ? Why, I knows dey han’t I An’t 
it all wrong, from fust to last, de way dey makes merchan- 
dise o’ us ! Why, I knows it is ; but I ’s still about it, for 
de Lord’s sake. I don’t work for Miss Loo — I works for de 
Lord Jesus; and he is good pay — no mistake, now I tell 
you.” 




21 * 


4 


246 


DEED. 


“ Well,” said Harry, a little shaken, but not convinced, 
“ after all, there is n’t much use in trying to do any other 
way. But you ’re lucky in feeling so, Aunt Milly ; but I 
can’t.” 

“ Well, chile, any way, don’t you do nothing rash, and 
don’t you hear him. Dat ar way out is through seas of 
blood. Why, chile, would you turn against Miss Nina? 
Chile, if they get a going, they won’t spare nobody. Don’t 
you start up dat ar tiger ; ’cause, I tell ye, ye can’t chain 
him, if ye do 1 ” 

“ Yes,” said Harry, 11 1 see it ’s all madness, perfect mad- 
ness ; there ’s no use thinking, no use talking. Well, good- 
morning, Aunt Milly. Peace go with you ! ” And the 
young man started his horse, and was soon out of sight. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 

We owe cur readers now some words of explanation 
respecting the new personage who has been introduced into 
our history ; therefore we must go back somewhat, and 
allude to certain historical events of painful significance. 

It has been a problem to many, how the system of slavery 
in America should unite the two apparent inconsistencies 
of a code of slave-laws more severe than that of any other 
civilized nation, with an average practice at least as indul- 
gent as any other ; for, bad as slavery is at the best, it may 
yet be admitted that the practice, as a whole, has been 
less cruel in this country than in many. An examination 
into history will show us that the cruelty of the laws 
resulted from the effects of indulgent practice. During 
the first years of importation of slaves into South Carolina, 
they enjoyed many privileges. Those who lived in intelligent 
families, and had any desire to learn, were instructed in 
reading and writing. Liberty was given them to meet in 
assemblies of worship, in class-meetings, and otherwise, 
without the presence of white witnesses ; and many were 
raised to situations of trust and consequence. The result 
of this was the development of a good degree of intelligence 
and manliness among the slaves. There arose among them 
grave, thoughtful, energetic men, with their ears and eyes 
open, and their minds constantly awake to compare and 
reason. 

When minds come into this state, in a government prt - 
fessing to be founded on principles of universal equality, it 




248 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


follows that almost every public speech, document, or 
newspaper, becomes an incendiary publication. 

Of this fact the southern slave states have ever exhibited 
the most singular unconsciousness. Documents containing 
sentiments most dangerous for slaves to hear have been 
publicly read and applauded among them. The slave has 
heard, amid shouts, on the Fourth of July, that his masters 
held the truth to be self-evident, that all men were born 
equal, and had an inalienable right to life, liberty, and the 
pursuit of happiness ; and that all governments derive their 
just power from the consent of the governed. Even the 
mottoes of newspapers have embodied sentiments of the 
most insurrectionary character. 

Such inscriptions as “ Resistance to tyrants is obedience 
to God” stand, to this day, in large letters, at the head of 
southern newspapers ; while speeches of senators and public 
men, in which the principles of universal democracy are 
asserted, are constant matters of discussion. Under such 
circumstances, it is difficult to induce the servant, who feels 
that he is a man, to draw those lines which seem so obvious 
to masters, by whom this fact has been forgotten. Accord- 
ingly we find that when the discussions for the admission of 
Missouri as a slave state produced a wave whose waters 
undulated in every part of the Union, there were found 
among the slaves men of unusual thought and vigor, who 
were no inattentive witnesses and listeners. The discus- 
sions were printed in the newspapers ; and what was 
printed in the newspapers was further discussed at the 
post-office door, in the tavern, in the bar-room, at the dinner- 
party, where black servants were listening behind the 
chairs. A free colored man in the city of Charleston, 
named Denmark Vesey, was the one who had the hardihood 
to seek to use the electric fluid in the cloud thus accu- 
mulated. He conceived the hopeless project of imitating 
the example set by the Aunerican race, and achieving inde- 
pendence for the blacks. 

Our knowledge of this man is derived entirely from the 


t 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


249 


printed reports of the magistrates who gave an account of 
the insurrection, of which he was the instigator, and who 
will not, of course, be supposed to be unduly prejudiced 
in his favor. They state that he was first brought to 
the country by one Captain Yesey, a young lad, distin- 
guished for personal beauty and great intelligence, and that 
lie proved, for twenty years, a most faithful slave ; but, on 
drawing a prize of fifteen hundred dollars in the lottery, he 
purchased his freedom of his master, and worked as a car- 
penter in the city of Charleston. He was distinguished for 
strength and activity, and, as the accounts state, maintained 
such an irreproachable character, and enjoyed so much the 
confidence of the whites, that when he was accused, the 
charge was not only discredited, but he was not even 
arrested for several days after, and not till the proof of his 
guilt had become too strong to be doubted. His historians 
go on, with considerable naivete, to remark : 

“ It is difficult to conceive what motive he had to enter into 
“ such a plot, unless it was the one mentioned by one of the 
tl witnesses, who said that Yesey had several children who 
“ were slaves, and that he said, on one occasion, he wished he 
** could see them free, as he himself artfully remarked in his 
“ defence on his trial.” 

It appears that the project of rousing and animating the 
blacks to this enterprise occupied the mind of Yesey for 
more than four years, during which time he was continually 
taking opportunities to animate and inspire the spirits of his 
countrymen. The account states that the speeches in Con- 
gress of those opposed to the admission of Missouri into the 
Union, perhaps garbled and misrepresented, furnished him 
with ample means for inflaming the minds of the colored 
population. 

“ Even while walking in the street,” the account goes on 
to say, “ he was not idle ; for, if his companion bowed to a 
“ white person, as slaves universally do, he would rebuke him, 
n and observe, 1 that all men were born equal, and that he 
tl was surprised that any one would degrade himself by 


250 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


“ such conduct ; that he would never cringe v to the whites ; 
“ nor ought any one to, who had the feelings of a man/ * 
“ When answered, 1 We are slaves/ he would say, sar- 
“ castically and indignantly, * You deserve to remain 
“ slaves ! 7 And, if he were further asked, 1 What can we 
“ do ? 7 he would remark, * Go and buy a spelling-book, and 
“ read the fable of “ Hercules and the Wagoner / 7 7 He also 
“ sought every opportunity of entering into conversation 
“ with white persons, during which conversation he would 
“ artfully introduce some bold remark on slavery ; and some- 
“ times, when, from the character he was conversing with, 
“ he found he might be still bolder, he would go so far that, 
“ had not his declarations been clearly proved, they would 
“ scarcely have been credited . 77 

But his great instrument of influence was a book that has 
always been prolific of insurrectionary movements, under 
all systems of despotism. 

“He rendered himself perfectly familiar with all those 
“ parts of Scripture which he thought he could pervert to 
“ his purpose, and would readily quote them to prove that 
“ slavery was contrary to the laws of God, and that slaves 
“ were bound to attempt their emancipation, however shock- 
“ ing and bloody might be the consequences ; that such 
“ efforts would not only be pleasing to the Almighty, but 
“ were absolutely enjoined . 77 

Yesey, in the course of time, associated with himself 
five slave-men of marked character — Rolla, Ned, Peter, 
Monday, and Gullah Jack. Of these, the account goes on 
to say : 

“ In the selection of his leaders, Yesey showed great pen- 
“ etration and sound judgment. Rolla was plausible, and 
“ possessed uncommon self-possession ; bold and ardent, he 
“ was not to be deterred from his purpose by danger. 
“ Ned 7 s appearance indicated that he was a man of firm 
“ nerves and desperate courage. Peter was intrepid and 


* These extracts are taken from the official report. 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


251 


“ resolute, true to his engagements, and cautious in observ- 
“ ing secrecy where it was necessary ; he was not to be 
“ daunted nor impeded by difficulties, and, though confident 
“ of success, was careful in providing against any obstacles 
“ or casualties which might arise, and intent upon discov- 
“ ering every means which might be in their power, if 
“ thought of beforehand. Gullah Jack was regarded as a 
“ sorcerer, and, as such, feared by the natives of Africa, 
“ who believe in witchcraft. He was not only considered 
“ invulnerable, but that he could make others so by his 
“ charms, and that he could, and certainly would, provide 
“ all his followers with arms. He was artful, cruel, bloody ; 
“ his disposition, in short, was diabolical. His influence 
“ among the Africans was inconceivable. Monday was firm, 
“ resolute, discreet, and intelligent.” 

“ It is a melancholy truth that the general good conduct 
“ of all the leaders, except Gullah Jack, was such as ren- 
“ dered them objects least liable to suspicion. Their con- 
“ duct had secured them, not only the unlimited confidence 
“ of their owners, but they had been indulged in every com- 
“ fort, and allowed every privilege compatible with their 
“ situation in the community ; and, though Gullah Jack was 
“ not remarkable for the correctness of his deportment, he 
“ by no means sustained a bad character. But,” adds the 
report, “not only were the leaders of good character, and 
“ very much indulged by their owners, but this was very 
“ generally the case with all who were convicted, many of 
“ them possessing the highest confidence of their owners, 
“ and not one a bad character .” 

“ The conduct and behavior of Yesey and his five leaders 
“ during their trial and imprisonment may be interesting^ 
“ to many. When Vesey was tried, he folded his arms, and 
“ seemed to pay great attention to the testimony given 
“ against him, but with his eyes fixed on the floor. In this 
“ situation he remained immovable until the witnesses had 
“been examined by the court, and cross-examined by his 
“counsel, when he requested to be allowed to examine the 


252 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


"witnesses himself, which he did. The evidence being 
" closed, he addressed the court at considerable length. 
" When he received his sentence, tears trickled down his 
" cheeks. 

" Rolla, when arraigned, affected not to understand the 
" charge against him ; and when, at his request, it was ex- 
" plained* to him, assumed, with wonderful adroitness, as- 
" tonishment and surprise. He was remarkable throughout 
" his trial for composure and great presence of mind. 
" When he was informed that he was convicted, and was^ 
" advised to prepare for death, he appeared perfectly con 
" founded, but exhibited no signs of fear. 

" In Ned’s behavior there was nothing remarkable. His 
" countenance was stern and immovable, even while he was 
" receiving sentence of death. From his looks it was im- 
" possible to discover or conjecture what were his feelings. 
" Not so with Peter Poyes. In his countenance were 
" strongly marked disappointed ambition, revenge, indigna- 
" tion, and an anxiety to know how far the discoveries had 
" extended. He did not appear to fear personal conse- 
" quences, for his whole behavior indicated the reverse, but 
" exhibited an evident anxiety for the success of their plan, 
" in which his whole soul was embarked. His countenance 
" and behavior were the same when he received his sen- 
" tence, and his only words were, on retiring, * I suppose 
" you ’ll let me see my wife and family before I die,’ and 
" that in no supplicating tone. When he was asked, a day or 
" two after, 1 If it was possible that he could see his master 
" and family murdered, who had treated him so kindly ? ’ 
" he replied to the question only by a smile. In their prison, 
" the convicts resolutely refused to make any confessions or 
" communications which might implicate others ; and Peter 
" Poyes sternly enjoined it upon them to maintain this silence 
" — ‘ Do not open your lips ; die silent , as you will see me do ! ’ 
" and in this resolute silence tl ey met their fate. Twenty- 
" two of the conspirators we:e executed upon one gal- 
" lows.” 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


253 


The account says, “ That Peter Poyes was one of the most 
“ active of the recruiting agents. All the principal con- 
“ spirators kept a list of those who had consented to join 
“ them, and Peter was said, by one of the witnesses, to 
“ have had six hundred names on his list ; but, so resolutely 
“ to the last did he observe his pledge of secrecy to his 
“ associates, that, of the whole number arrested and tried, 
“ not one of them belonged to his company. In fact, in an 
“ insurrection in which thousands of persons were supposed 
“ to have been implicated, only thirty-six were convicted. ” 

Among the children of Denmark Yesey was a boy by a 
Mandingo slave-woman, who was his father’s particular 
favorite. The Mandingos are one of the finest of African 
tribes, distinguished for intelligence, beauty of form, and an 
indomitable pride and energy of nature. As slaves, they 
are considered particularly valuable by those who have tact 
enough to govern them, because of their great capability 
and their proud faithfulness ; but they resent a government 
of brute force, and under such are always fractious and 
dangerous. 

This boy received from his mother the name of Dred ; a 
name not unusual among the slaves, and generally given to 
those of great physical force. 

The development of this child’s mind was so uncommon 
as to excite astonishment among the negroes. He early 
acquired the power of reading, by an apparent instinctive 
faculty, and would often astonish those around him with 
things which he had discovered in books. Like other chil- 
dren of a deep and fervent nature, he developed great reli- 
gious ardor, and often surprised the older negroes by his 
questions and replies on this subject. A son so endowed 
could not but be an object of great pride and interest to a 
father like Denmark Yesey. The impression seemed to pre- 
vail universally among the negroes that this child was born 
for extraordinary things ; and perhaps it was the yearning 
to acquire liberty for the development of such a mind which 
first led Denmark Vesey to reflect on the nature of slavery, 
22 


254 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


and the terrible weights which it lays on the human intel- 
lect, and to conceive the project of liberating a race. 

The Bible, of which Yesey was an incessant reader, 
stimulated this desire. He likened his own position of com- 
parative education, competence, and general esteem among 
the whites, to ttmt of Moses among the Egyptians ; and 
nourished the idea that, like Moses, he was sent as a deliv- 
erer. During the process of the conspiracy, this son, 
though but ten years of age, was his father’s confidant; and 
he often charged him, though he should fail in the attempt, 
never to be discouraged. He impressed it upon his mind 
that he should never submit tamely to the yoke of slavery ; 
and nourished the idea already impressed, that some more 
than ordinary destiny was reserved for him. After the 
discovery of the plot, and the execution of its leaders, 
those more immediately connected with them were sold 
from the state, even though not proved to have par- 
ticipated. With the most guarded caution, Yesey had ex- 
empted this son from suspicion. It had been an agreed 
policy with them both, that in the presence of others they 
should counterfeit alienation and dislike. Their confidential 
meetings with each other had been stolen and secret. At 
the time of his father’s execution, Dred was a lad of four- 
teen. He could not be admitted to his father’s prison, but 
he was a witness of the undaunted aspect with which he 
and the other conspirators met their doom. The memory 
dropped into the depths of his soul, as a stone drops into 
the desolate depths of a dark mountain lake. 

Sold to a distant plantation, he became noted for his des- 
perate, unsubduable disposition. He joined in none of the 
social recreations and amusements of the slaves, labored 
with proud and silent assiduity, but, on the slightest rebuke 
or threat, flashed up with a savage fierceness, which, sup- 
ported by his immense bodily strength, made him an object 
of dread among overseers. He was one of those of whom 
they gladly rid themselves ; and, like a fractious horse, was 
sold from master to master. Finally, an overseer, hardier 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


255 


than the rest, determined on the task of subduing him. In 
the scuffle that ensued Dred struck him to the earth, a dead 
man, made his escape to the swamps, and was never after- 
wards heard of in civilized life. 

The reader who consults the map will discover that the 
whole eastern shore of the Southern States, with slight 
interruptions, is belted by an immense chain of swamps, 
regions of hopeless disorder, where the abundant growth 
and vegetation of nature, sucking up its forces from the 
humid soil, seems to rejoice in a savage exuberance, and 
bid defiance to all human efforts either to penetrate or 
subdue. These wild regions are the homes of the alligator, 
the mocassin, and the rattle-snake. Evergreen trees, min- 
gling freely with the deciduous children of the forest, form 
here dense jungles, verdant all the year round, and which 
afford shelter to numberless birds, with whose warbling the 
leafy desolation perpetually resounds. Climbing vines, and 
parasitic plants, of untold splendor and boundless exuber- 
ance of growth, twine and interlace, and hang from the 
heights of the highest trees pennons of gold and purple, 
— triumphant banners, which attest the solitary majesty of 
nature. A species of parasitic moss wreaths its abundant 
draperies from tree to tree, and hangs in pearly festoons, 
through which shine the scarlet berry and green leaves of 
the American holly. 

What the mountains of Switzerland were to the perse- 
cuted Yaudois, this swampy belt has been to the American 
slave. The constant effort to recover from thence fugi- 
tives has led to the adoption, in these states, of a separate 
profession, unknown at this time in any other Christian land 
— hunters, who train and keep dogs for the hunting of.men, 
women, and children. And yet, with all the convenience of 
this profession, the reclaiming of the fugitives from these 
fastnesses of nature has been a work of such expense and 
difficulty, that the near proximity of the swamp has always 
been a considerable check on the otherwise absolute power 
of the overseer. Dred carried with him to the swamp but 


256 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


one solitary companion — the Bible of his father. To him 
it was not the messenger of peace and good-will, but the 
herald of woe and wrath ! 

As the mind, looking on the great volume of nature, sees 
there a reflection of its own internal passions, and seizes on 
that in it which sympathizes with itself, — as the fierce and 
savage soul delights in the roar of torrents, the thunder of 
avalanches, and the whirl of ocean-storms, — so is it in the 
great answering volume of revelation. There is something 
there for every phase of man’s nature ; and hence its end- 
less vitality and stimulating force. Dred had heard read, 
in the secret meetings of conspirators, the wrathful de- 
nunciations of ancient prophets against oppression and 
injustice. He had read of kingdoms convulsed by plagues ; 
of tempest, and pestilence, and locusts ; of the sea cleft in 
twain, that an army of slaves might pass through, and of 
their pursuers whelmed in the returning waters. He had 
heard of prophets and deliverers, armed with supernatural 
powers, raised up for oppressed people ; had pondered on 
the nail of Jael, the goad of Shamgar, the pitcher and lamp 
of Gideon ; and thrilled with fierce joy as he read how Sam- 
son, with his two strong arms, pulled down the pillars of the 
festive temple, and whelmed his triumphant persecutors in 
one grave with himself. 

In the vast solitudes which he daily traversed, these 
things entered deep into his soul. Cut off* from all human 
companionship, often going weeks without seeing a human 
face, there was no recurrence of every-day and prosaic ideas 
to check the current of the enthusiasm thus kindled. Even 
in the soil of the cool Saxon heart the Bible has thrown out 
its roots with an all-pervading energy, so that the whole 
frame-work of society may be said to rest on soil held 
together by its fibres. Even in cold and misty England, 
armies have been made defiant and invincible by the in- 
comparable force and deliberate valor which it breathes into 
men. But, when this oriental seed, an exotic among us, is 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


257 


planted back in the fiery soil of a tropical heart, it bursts 
forth with an incalculable ardor of growth. 

A stranger cannot fail to remark the fact that, though the 
slaves of the South are unable to read the Bible for them- 
selves, yet most completely have its language and sentiment 
penetrated among them, giving a Hebraistic coloring to 
their habitual mode of expression. How much greater, 
then, must have been the force of the solitary perusal of 
this volume on so impassioned a nature ! — a nature, too, 
kindled by memories of the self-sacrificing ardor with which 
a father and his associates had met death at the call of free- 
dom ; for. none of us may deny that, wild and hopeless as 
this scneme was, it was still the same in kind with the more 
successful one which purchased for our fathers a national 
existence. 

A mind of the most passionate energy and vehemence, 
thus awakened, for years made the wild solitudes of the 
swamp its home. That book, so full of startling symbols 
and vague images, had for him no interpreter but the silent 
courses of nature. His life passed in a kind of dream. 
Sometimes, traversing for weeks these desolate regions, he 
would compare himself to Elijah traversing for forty days 
and nights the solitudes of Horeb ; or to John the Baptist 
in the wilderness, girding himself with camel's hair, and 
eating locusts and wild honey. Sometimes he would fast 
and pray for days ; and then voices would seem to speak 
to him, and strange hieroglyphics would be written upon 
the leaves. In less elevated moods of mind, he would pur- 
sue, with great judgment and vigor, those enterprises neces- 
sary to preserve existence. The negroes lying out in the 
swamps are not so wholly cut off from society as might at 
first be imagined. The slaves of all the adjoining plantations, 
whatever they may pretend, to secure the good-will of their 
owners, are at heart secretly disposed, from motives both of 
compassion and policy, to favor the fugitives. They very 
readily perceive that, in the event of any difficulty occurring j 
to themselves, it might be quite necessary to have a friend 

22* H 


258 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


and protector in the swamp ; and therefore they do not 
hesitate to supply these fugitives, so far as they are able, 
with anything which they may desire. The poor whites, 
also, who keep small shops in the neighborhood of planta- 
tions, are never particularly scrupulous, provided they can 
turn a penny to their own advantage ; and willingly sup- 
ply necessary wares in exchange for game, with which the 
swamp abounds. 

Dred, therefore, came in possession of an excellent rifle, 
and never wanted for ammunition, which supplied him with 
an abundance of food. Besides this, there are here and 
there elevated spots in the swampy land, which, by judicious 
culture, are capable of great productiveness. And many 
such spots Dred had brought under cultivation, either with 
his own hands, or from those of other fugitives, whom he 
had received and protected. From the restlessness of 
his nature, he had not confined himself to any particular 
region, but had traversed the whole swampy belt of both 
the Carolinas, as well as that of Southern Virginia ; residing 
a few months in one place, and a few months in another. 
Wherever he stopped, he formed a sort of retreat, where he 
received and harbored fugitives. On one occasion, he res- 
cued a trembling and bleeding mulatto woman from the 
dogs of the hunters, who had pursued her into the swamp 
This woman he made his wife, and appeared to entertain a 
very deep affection for her. He made a retreat for her, with 
more than common ingenuity, in the swamp adjoining the 
Gordon plantation ; and, after that, he was more especially 
known in that locality. He had fixed his eye upon Harry, 
as a person whose ability, address, and strength of charac- 
ter, might make him at some day a leader in a conspiracy 
against the whites. Harry, in common with many of the 
slaves on the Gordon plantation, knew perfectly well of the 
presence of Dred in the neighborhood, and had often seen 
and conversed with him. But neither he nor any of the 
rest of them ever betrayed before any white person the 
* slightest knowledge of the fact. 


THE CONSPIRATORS. 


259 


This ability of profound secrecy is one of the invaria- 
ble attendants of a life of slavery. Harry was acute 
enough to know that his position was by no means so se- 
cure that he could afford to dispense with anything which 
might prove an assistance in some future emergency. The 
low white traders in the neighborhood also knew Dred well ; 
but, as long as they could drive an advantageous trade with 
him, he was secure from their intervention. So secure had 
he been, that he had been even known to mingle in the 
motley throng of a camp-meeting unmolested. Thus much 
with regard to one who is to appear often on the stage 
before our history is done. 


CHAPTER XX. 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 

In the course of a few days the family circle at Canema was 
enlarged by the arrival of Clayton’s sister ; and Carson, in 
excellent spirits, had started for a Northern watering-place. 
In answer to Nina’s letter of invitation, Anne had come 
with her father, who was called to that vicinity by the duties 
of his profession. Nina received her with her usual gay 
frankness of manner ; and Anne, like many others, soon 
found herself liking her future sister much better than she 
had expected. Perhaps, had Nina been in any other situa- 
tion than that of hostess, her pride might have led her to 
decline making the agreeable to Anne, whom, notwithstand- 
ing, she very much wished to please. Rut she was mistress 
of the mansion, and had an Arab’s idea of the privileges of 
a guest ; and so she chatted, sang, and played, for her ; she 
took her about, showed her the walks, the arbors, the flower- 
garden ; waited on her in her own apartment, with a thou- 
sand little attentions, all the more fascinating from the kind 
of careless independence with which they were rendered. 
Besides, Nina had vowed a wicked little vow in her heart 
that she would ride rough-shod over Anne’s dignity ; that 
she would n’t let her be grave or sensible, but that she 
should laugh and frolic with her. And Clayton could scarce 
help smiling at the success that soon crowned her exer- 
tions. Nina’s gayety, when in full tide, had a breezy infec- 
tiousness in it, that seemed to stir up every one about her, 
and carry them on the tide of her own spirits ; and Anne, 
in her company, soon found herself laughing at everything 
and nothing, simply because she felt gay. 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


261 


To crown all, Uncle J ohn Gordon arrived, with his cheery, 
jovial face ; and he was one of those fearless, hit-or-miss 
talkers, that are invaluable in social dilemmas, because they 
keep something or other all the while in motion. 

With him came Madam Gordon, or, as Nina commonly 
called her, Aunt Maria. She was a portly, finely-formed, 
middle-aged woman, who might have been handsome, had 
not the lines of care and nervous anxiety ploughed them- 
selves so deeply in her face. Her bright, keen, hazel eyes, 
fine teeth, and the breadth of her ample form, attested the 
vitality of the old Virginia stock from whence she sprung. 

“ There," said Nina, to Anne Clayton, as they sat in the 
shady side of the veranda, “I've marshalled Aunt Maria 
up into Aunt Nesbit's room, and there they will have a 
comfortable dish of lamentation over me.” 

“ Over you ? " said Anne. 

“ Yes — over me, to be sure ! — that 's the usual order of 
exercises. Such a setting down as I shall get ! They 'll 
count up on their fingers all the things I ought to know and 
don't, and ought to do and can't. I believe that 's the way 
relatives always sho^ their affection — aunts in particular 
— by mourning over you." 

“ And what sort of a list will they make out ? " said 
Anne. 

“ 0, bless me, that 's easy enough. Why, there 's Aunt 
Maria, is a perfectly virulent housekeeper — really insane, 
I believe, on that subject. Why, she chases up every rat 
and mouse and cockroach, every particle of dust, every 
scrap of litter. She divides her hours, and is as punctual 
as a clock. She rules her household with a rod of iron, and 
makes everybody stand round ; and tells each one how 
many times a day they may wink. She keeps accounts 
like a very dragon, and always is sure to pounce on any- 
body that is in the least out of the way. She cuts out 
clothes by the bale ; she sews, and she knits, and she 
jingles keys. And all this kind of bustle she calls house- 
keeping ! Now, what do you suppose she must think of 


262 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


me, who just put on my hat in the morning, and go sailing 
down the walks, looking at the flowers, till Aunt Katy calls 
me back, to know what my orders are for the day ? 77 

“ Pray, who is Aunt Katy ? 77 said Anne. 

“ 0, she is my female prime minister ; and she is very 
much like some prime ministers I have studied about in 
history, who always contrive to have their own way, let 
what will come. Now, when Aunt Katy comes and wants to 
know, so respectfully, * What Miss Nina is going to have for 
dinner/ do you suppose she has the least expectation of get- 
ting anything that I order ? She always has fifty objections 
to anything that I propose. For sometimes the fit comes 
over me to try to be housekeepy, like Aunt Maria ; but it 7 b 
no go, I can tell you. So, when she has proved that every- 
thing that I propose is the height of absurdity, and shown 
conclusively that there ’s nothing fit to be eaten in the 
neighborhood, by that time I am reduced to a proper state 
of mind. And, when I humbly say, ‘ Aunt Katy, what 
shall we do ? 7 then she gives a little cough, and out comes 
the whole program, just as she had arranged it the night 
before. And so it goes. As to accounts, why, Harry ha^ 
to look after them. I detest everything about money, ex- 
cept the spending of it — I have rather a talent for that. 
Now, just think how awfully all this must impress poor 
Aunt Maria 1 What sighings, and rollings up of eyes, and 
shakings of heads, there are over me ! And, then, Aunt 
Nesbit is always dinging at me about improving my mind I 
And improving my mind means reading some horrid, stupid, 
boring' old book, just as she does ! Now, I like the idea of 
improving my mind. I am sure it wants improving, bad 
enough ; but, then, I can’t help thinking that racing through 
the garden, and cantering through the woods, improves it 
faster than getting asleep over books. It seems to me that 
books are just like dry hay — very good when there is n’t 
any fresh grass to be had. But I ’d rather be out and eat 
what’s growing. Now, what people call nature never bores 
me ; but almost every book I ever saw does. Don’t you 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


263 


think people are made differently ? Some like books, and 
some like things ; don’t you think so ? ” 

“ I can give you a good fact on your side of the argu- 
ment,” said Clayton, who had come up behind them during 
the conversation. 

“I didn’t know I was arguing ; but I shall be glad to 
have anything on my side,” said Nina, “ of course.” 

“ Well, then,” said Clayton, “ I ’ll say that the books 
that have influenced the world the longest, the widest, and 
deepest, have been written by men who attended to things 
more than to books ; who, as you say, eat what was grow- 
ing, instead of dry hay. Homer could n’t have had much 
to read in his time, nor the poets of the Bible ; and they 
have been fountains for all ages. I don’t believe Shaks- 
peare was much of a reader.” 

“ Well, but,” said Anne, “ don’t you think that, for us 
common folks, who are not going to be either Homers or 
Shakspeares, that it ’s best to have two strings to our bow, 
and to gain instruction both from books and things ? ” 

“ To be sure,” said Clayton, “if we only use books 
aright. With many people, reading is only a form of mental 
indolence, by which they escape the labor of thinking for 
themselves. Some persons are like Pharaoh’s lean kine; 
they swallow book upon book, but remain as lean as 
ever.” 

“ My grandfather used to say,” said Anne, “ that the 
Bible and Shakspeare were enough for a woman’s library.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, “ I don’t like Shakspeare, there ! 
I ’m coming out flat with it. In the first place, I don’t 
understand half he says ; and, then, they talk about his being 
so very natural ! I ’m sure I never heard people talk as he 
makes them. Now, did you ever hear people talk in blank 
verse, with every now and then one or two lines of rhyme, 
as his characters do when they go off in long speeches ? 
Now, did you ? ” 

“As to that,” said Clayton, “it’s about half and half. 
His conversations have just about the same resemblance to 


264 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


real life that acting at the opera has. It is not natural for 
Norma to burst into a song when she disco's ers the treach- 
ery of her husband. You make that concession to the 
nature of the opera, in the first place ; and then, with that 
reserve, all the rest strikes you as natural, and the music 
gives an added charm to it. So, in Shakspeare, you 
concede that the plays are to be poems, and that the people 
are to talk in rhythm, and with all the exaltation of poetic 
sentiment ; and, that being admitted, their conversations 
may seem natural. ” 

“ But I can’t understand a great deal that Shakspeare 
says,” said Nina. 

“ Because so many words and usages are altered since 
he wrote,” said Clayton. “ Because there are so many allu- 
sions to incidents that have passed, and customs that have 
perished, that you have, as it were, to acquire his language 
before you can understand him. Suppose a poem were 
written in a foreign tongue ; you could n’t say whether you 
liked it or disliked it till you could read the language. Now, 
my opinion is, that there is a liking for Shakspeare hidden 
in your nature, like a seed that has not sprouted.” 

“ What makes you think so ? ” 

“ 0, I see it in you, just as a sculptor sees a statue in a 
block of marble.” 

il And are you going to chisel it out ? ” said Nina. 

“ With your leave,” said Clayton. “ After all, I like 
your sincerity in saying what you do think. I have often 
heard ladies profess an admiration for Shakspeare that I 
knew could n’t be real. I knew that they had neither the 
experience of life, nor the insight into human nature, really 
to appreciate what is in him ; and that their liking for him 
was all a worked-up affair, because they felt it would be 
very shocking not to like him.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, “ I ’m much obliged to you for all 
the sense you find in my nonsense. I believe I shall keep 
you to translate my fooleries into good English.” 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


265 


“ You know I ’m quite at your disposal,” said Clayton, 
" for that or anything else.” 

At this moment the attention of Nina was attracted by 
loud exclamations from that side of the house where the 
negro cottages were situated. 

“ Get along off! don’t want none o’ yo old trash here I 
No, no, Miss Nina don’t want none o’ yo old fish ! She ’s 
got plenty of niggers to ketch her own fish.” 

“ Somebody taking my name in vain in those regions,” 
said Nina, running to the other end of the veranda. 
“ Tomtit,” she said to that young worthy, who lay flat on 
his back, kicking up his heels in the sun, waiting for his 
knives to clean themselves, “ pray tell me what ’s going 
on there ! ” 

“ Laws, missis,” said Tom, “ it ’s just one of dese yer 
poor white trash, coming round here trying to sell one thing 
o’ nother. Miss Loo says it won’t do ’courage ’em, and I ’s 
de same ’pinion.” 

“ Send him round here to me,” said Nina, who, partly 
from humanity, and partly from a spirit of contradiction, 
had determined to take up for the poor white folks, on all 
occasions. Tomtit ran accordingly, and soon brought to 
the veranda a man whose wretchedly tattered clothing 
scarcely formed a decent covering. His cheeks were sunken 
and hollow, and he stood before Nina with a cringing, half- 
ashamed attitude ; and yet one might see that, with better 
dress and better keeping, he might be made to assume the 
appearance of a handsome, intelligent man. “ What do 
you ask for your fish ? ” she said to him. 

“ Anything ye pleases I ” 

“ Where do you live ? ” said Nina, drawing out her 
purse. 

“ My folks ’s staying on Mr. Gordon’s place.” 

11 Why don’t you get a place of your own to stay on ? ” 
said Nina 

There was an impatient glance flashed from the man’s 

23 


266 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


eye, but it gave place immediately to his habitual cowed 
expression, ^s he said, 

“ Can't get work — can’t get money — can’t get noth- 
ing.” 

“ Dear me,” said her Uncle John, who had been standing 
for a moment listening to the conversation. il This must 
be husband of that poor hobgoblin that has lighted 
down on my place lately. Well, you may as well pay him 
a good price for his fish. Keep them from starving one day 
longer, may be.” And Nina paid the man a liberal sum, and 
dismissed him. 

“ I suppose, now, all my eloquence would n’t make Rose 
cook those fish for dinner,” said Nina. 

“ Why not, if you told* her to ? ” said Aunt Maria, who 
had also descended to the veranda. 

“ Why not ?— Just because, as she would say, she had n’t 
laid out to do it.” 

“ That ’s not the way my servants are taught to do ! ” 
said Aunt Maria. 

li I ’ll warrant not,” said Nina. “ But yours and mine 
are quite different affairs, aunt. They all do as they have 
a mind to, in my ‘ diggings .’ All I stipulate for is a little 
of the same privilege.” 

“ That man’s wife and children have come and 1 squatted 1 
down on my place,” said Mr. Gordon, laughing ; “ and so, 
Nin, all you paid for his fish is just so much saving to me.” 

“ Yes, to be sure ! Mr. Gordon is just one of those men 
that will have a tribe of shiftless hangers on at his heels ! ” 
said Mrs. Gordon. 

“ Well, bless my soul ! what ’s a fellow to do ? Can’t 
see the poor heathen starve, can we ? If society could only 
be organized over, now, there would be hope for them. The 
brain ought to control the hands ; but among us the hands 
try to set up for themselves ; — and see what comes of it ! ” 

“ Wlio do you mean by brain ? ” said Nina. 

“ Who ? — Why, we upper crust, to be sure I We educated 
people ! We ought to have an absolute sway over the work- 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA7 


267 


ing classes, just as the brain rules the hand. It must come 
to that, at last — no other arrangement is possible. The 
white working classes can’t take care of themselves, and 
must be put into a condition for us to take care of them. 
What is liberty to them ? — Only a name — liberty to be 
hungry and naked, that ’s all. It ’s the strangest thing in 
the world, how people stick to names ! I suppose that fel- 
low, up there, would flare up terribly at being put in with 
my niggers ; and yet he and his children are glad of the 
crumbs that fall from their table ! It ’s astonishing to me 
how, with such examples before them, any decent man can 
be so stone blind as to run a tilt against slavery. Just 
compare the free working classes with our slaves ! Dear 
me ! the blindness of people in this world I It ’s too much 
for my patience, particularly in hot weather ! ” said Mr. 
John, wiping his face with a white pocket-handkerchief. 

“ Well, but, Uncle John,” said Nina, "my dear old gen- 
tleman, you have n’t travelled, as I have.” 

“ No, child ! I thank the Lord I never stepped my foot 
out of a slave state, and I never mean to,” said Uncle 
John. 

“ But you ought to see the northern working people,” 
said Nina. “ Why, the Governors of the States are farmers, 
sometimes, and work with their own men. The brain and the 
hand go together, in each one — not one great brain to fifty 
pair of hands. And, I tell you, work is done up there very 
differently from what ’s done here ! J ust look at our ploughs 
and our hoes ! — the most ridiculous things that I ever saw. 
I should think one of them would weigh ten pounds ! ” 

" Well, if you don’t have ’em heavy enough to go into 
the ground by their own weight, these cussed lazy nigs 
won’t do anything with them. They ’d break a dozen Yan- 
kee hoes in a forenoon,” said Uncle John. 

“ Now,” said Nina, “ Uncle John, you dear old heathen, 
you ! do let me tell you a little how it is there. I went up 
into New Hampshire, once, with Livy Ray, to spend a vaca- 
tion. Livy’s father is a farmer ; works part of every day 


268 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


•with his own men ; hoes, digs, plants ; but he is Governor 
of the State. He has a splendid farm — all in first-rate 
order ; and his sons, with two or three hired men, keep it in 
better condition than our places ever saw. Mr. Ray is a 
man who reads a great deal ; has a fine library, and he ’s as 
much of a gentleman as you ’ll often see. There are no 
high and low classes there. Everybody works ; and every- 
body seems to have a good time. Livy’s mother has a 
beautiful dairy, spring house, and two strong women to 
help her ; and everything in the house looks beautifully ; 
and, for the greater part of the day, the house seems so 
neat and still, you would n’t know anything had been done 
in it. Seems to me this is better than making slaves of 
all the working classes, or having any working classes 
at all.” 

“ How wise young ladies always are ! ” said Uncle John. 
“ Undoubtedly the millennium is begun in New Hampshire 1 
But, pray, my dear, what part do young ladies take in all 
this ? Seems to me, Nin, you have n’t picked up much of 
this improvement in person.” 

“ 0, as to that, I labor in my vocation,” said Nina ; “ that 
is, of enlightening dull, sleepy old gentlemen, who never 
travelled out of the state they were born in, and don’t know 
what can be done. I come as a missionary to them ; I ’m 
sure that ’s work enough for one.” 

“ Well,” said Aunt Maria, “ I know I am as great a 
slave as any of the poor whites, or negroes either. There 
is n’t a soul in my whole troop that pretends to take any 
care, except me, either about themselves or their children, 
or anything else.” 

“I hope that isn’t a slant at me!” said Uncle John, 
shrugging his shoulders. 

“ I must say you are as bad as any of them,” said Aunt 
Maria. 

“ There it goes ! — now I ’m getting it ! ” said Uncle 
John. “ I declare, the next time we get a preacher out here, 
I ’m going to make him hold forth on the duties of wives I ” 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


2G9 


44 And husbands, too I ” said Aunt Maria. 

u Do,” said Nina ; “ I should like a little prospective in- 
formation.” 

Nina, as often, spoke before she thought. Uncle John 
gave a malicious look at Clayton. Nina could not recall 
the words. She colored deeply, and went on hastily to 
change the subject. 

“ At any rate, I know that aunt, here, has a much harder 
time than housekeepers do in the free states. Just the 
shoes she wears out chasing up her negroes would hire help 
enough to do all her work. They used to have an idea, up 
there, that all the southern ladies did was to lie on the sofa. 
I used to tell them it was as much as they knew about it.” 

“ Your cares don't seem to have worn you much ! ” said 
Uncle John. 

“ Well, they will, Uncle John, if you don't behave better. 
It 's enough to break anybody down to keep you in order.” 

“ I wish,” said Uncle John, shrugging up his shoulders, 
and looking quizzically at Clayton, “ somebody would take 
warning ! ” 

“For my part,” said Aunt Maria, “I know one thing; 
I 'd be glad to get rid of my negroes. Sometimes I think 
life is such a burden that I don't think it 's worth having.” 

“ 0, no, you don't, mother ! ” said Uncle John ; “ not with 
such a charming husband as you 've got, who relieves you 
from all care so perfectly ! ” 

“ I declare,” said Nina, looking along the avenue, 
“ what 's that ? Why, if there is n't old Tiff, coming along 
with his children ! ” 

“ Who is he ? ” said Aunt Maria. 

“ 0, he belongs to one of these miserable families,” said 
Aunt Nesbit, “ that have squatted in the pine-woods some- 
where about here — a poor, worthless set ! but Nina has a 
great idea of patronizing them.” 

“ Clear Gordon, every inch of her ! ” said Aunt Maria, as 
Nina ran down to meet Tiff. “ Just like her uncle ! ” 

44 Come, now, old lady, I '11 tell of you, if you don't take 
23* 


270 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


care ! ” said Mr. Gordon. “ Did n't I find you putting up a 
basket of provisions for those folks you scolded me so for 
taking in ? " 

“ Scold, Mr. Gordon ? I never scold ! " 

“ I beg pardon — that you reproved me for ! " 

Ladies generally are not displeased for being reproached 
for their charities ; and Aunt Maria, whose bark, to use a 
vulgar proverb, was infinitely worse than her bite, sat fan- 
ning herself, with an air of self-complacency. Meanwhile, 
Nina had run down the avenue, and was busy in a confiden- 
tial communication with Tiff. On her return, she came skip- 
ping up the steps, apparently in high glee. 

“ 0, Uncle John ! there 's the greatest fun getting up ! 
You must all go, certainly ! What do you think ? Tiff 
says there 's to be a camp-meeting in the neighborhood, 
only about five miles off from his place. Let's make up a 
party, and all go I " 

“ That 's the time of day ! " said Uncle John. “ I enrol 
myself under your banner, at once. I am open to improve 
ment I Anybody wants to convert me, here I am!" 

“The trouble with you, Uncle John," said Nina, “is that 
you don't stay converted. You are just like one of these 
heavy fishes — you bite very sharp, but, before anybody can 
get you fairly on to the bank, you are flapping and flounder- 
ing back into the water, and down you go into your sins 
again. I know at least three ministers who thought they 
had hooked you out’; but they were mistaken." 

“For my part," said Aunt Maria, “ I think these camp- 
meetings do more harm than good. They collect all the 
scum and the riff-raff of the community, and I believe 
there 's more drinking done at camp-meetings in one week 
than is done in six anywhere else. Then, of course, all the 
hands will want to be off ; and Mr. Gordon has brought 
them up so that they feel dreadfully abused if they are not 
in with everything that 's going on. I shall set down my 
foot, this year, that they shan't go any day except Sunday." 

“ My wife knows that she was always celebrated for hav- 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


271 


ing the handsomest foot in the county, and so she is always 
setting it down at me I ” said Mr. Gordon ; “ for she knows 
that a pretty foot is irresistible with me.” 

“ Mr. Gordon, how can you talk so ? I should think that 
you ’d got old enough not to make such silly speeches ! ” 
said Aunt Maria. 

11 Silly speeches ! It ’s a solemn fact, and you won’t hear 
anything truer at the camp-meeting ! ” said Uncle John. 
“ But come, Clayton, will you go ? My dear fellow, your 
grave face will be an appropriate ornament to the scene, I 
can assure you ; and, as to Miss Anne, it won’t do for an old 
fellow like me, in this presence, to say what a happiness it 
would be.” 

“ I suspect,” said Anne, “ Edward is afraid he may be 
called on for some of the services. People are always tak- 
ing him for a clergyman, and asking him to say grace at 
meals, and to conduct family prayers, when he is travelling 
among strangers.” 

“ It ’s a comment on our religion, that these should be 
thought peculiar offices of clergymen,” said Clayton. 
“ Every Christian man ought to be ready and willing to take 
them.” 

“ I honor that sentiment ! ” said Uncle John. “ A man 
ought not to be ashamed of his religion anywhere, no more 
than a soldier of his colors. I believe there ’s more religion 
hid in the hearts of honest laymen, now, than is plastered up 
behind the white cravats of clergymen ; and they ought to 
come out with it. Not that I have any disrespect for the 
clergy, either,” said Uncle John. “Fine men — a little 
stiffish, and don’t call things by good English names. Al- 
ways talking about dispensation, and sanctification, and 
edification, and so forth ; but I like them. They are sin- 
cere. I suppose they would n’t any of them give me a 
chance for heaven, because I rip out with an oath, every now 
and then. But, the fact is, what with niggers, and overseers, 
and white trash, my chances of salvation are dreadfully 
limited. I can’t help swearing, now and then, if I was to 


272 


SUMMER TALK AT CANEMA. 


die for it. They say it ’s dreadfully wicked ; but I feel more 
Christian when I let out than when I keep in ! ” 

“ Mr. Gordon,” said Aunt Maria, reprovingly, “ do con- 
sider what you ’re saying ! ” 

“My dear, I am considering. I am considering all the 
time ! I never do anything else but consider — except, as 
I said before, every now and then, when what-’s-his-name 
gets the advantage over me. And, hark you, Mrs. G., let ’s 
have things ready at our house, if any of the clergy would 
like to spend a week or so with us ; and we could get them 
up some meetings, or any little thing in their line. I always 
like to show respect for them.” 

“Our beds are always prepared for company, Mr. Gor- 
don,” said Aunt Maria, with a stately air. 

“ 0, yes, yes, I don’t doubt that ! I only meant some 
special preparation — some little fatted-calf killing, and so 
on.” 

“ Now,” said Nina, “ shall we set off to-morrow morn- 
ing ? ” 

“ Agreed ! ” said Uncle John. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


tiff’s preparations. 

The announcement of the expected camp-meeting pro- 
duced a vast sensation at Canema, in other circles beside 
the hall. In the servants’ department, everybody was full 
of the matter, from Aunt Katy down to Tomtit. The 
women were thinking over their available finery ; for these 
gatherings furnish the negroes with the same opportu- 
nity of display that Grace Church does to the Broadway 
belles. And so, before Old Tiff, who had brought the first 
intelligence to the plantation, had time to depart, Tomtit 
had trumpeted the news through all the cluster of negro- 
houses that skirted the right side of the mansion, proclaim- 
ing that “ dere was gwine to be a camp-meeting, and tip-top 
work of grace, and Miss Nina was going to let all de nig- 
gers go.”. Old Tiff, therefore, found himself in a prominent 
position in a group of negro-women, among whom Rose, 
the cook, was conspicuous. 

“ Law, Tiff, ye gwine ? and gwine to take your chil’en ? 
ha ! ha ! ha ! ” said she. “ Why, Miss Fanny, dey ’ll tink 
Tiff ’s yer mammy ! Ho ! ho ! ho 1 ” 

“ Yah ! yah ! Ho ! ho 1 hoi” roared in a chorus of 
laughter on all sides, doing honor to Aunt Rosy’s wit ; and 
Tomtit, who hung upon the skirts of the crowd, threw up 
the fragment of a hat in the air, and kicked it in an abandon 
of joy, regardless of the neglected dinner-knives. Old Tiff, 
mindful of dignities, never failed to propitiate Rose, on his 
advents to the plantation, with the gift which the “ wise 
man saith maketh friends ; ” and, on the present occasion, ho 


274 


tiff’s preparations. 


had enriched her own peculiar stock of domestic fowl by 
the present of a pair of young partridge-chicks, a nest of 
which he had just captured, intending to bring them up by 
hand, as he did his children. By this discreet course, Tiff 
stood high where it was of most vital consequence that he 
should so stand ; and many a choice morsel did Rose cook 
for him in secret, besides imparting to him most invaluable 
recipes on the culture and raising of sucking babies. Old 
Hundred, like many other persons, felt that general attention 
lavished on any other celebrity was so much taken from 
his own merits, and, therefore, on the present occasion, sat 
regarding Tiff’s evident popularity with a cynical eye. At 
last, coming up, like a wicked fellow as he was, he launched 
his javelin at Old Tiff, by observing to his wife, 

“ I ’s ’stonished at you, Rose ! You, cook to de Gor- 
dons, and making youself so cheap — so familiar with de 
poor white folks’ niggers ! ” 

Had the slant fallen upon himself, personally, Old Tiff 
would probably have given a jolly crow, and laughed as 
heartily as he generally did if he happened to be caught out 
in a rain-storm ; but the reflection on his family connection 
fired him up like a torch, and his eyes flashed through his 
big spectacles like fire-light through windows. 

“ You go ’long, talking ’bout what you don’ know nothing 
’bout 1 I like to know what you knows ’bout de old Virgin- 
ny fam’lies ? Bern ’s de real old stock ! You Car’lina folks 
come from dem, stick and stock, every blest one of you 1 
De Gordons is a nice family — an’t nothing to say agin de 
Gordons — but' whar was you raised, dat ye didn’t hear 
’bout de Peytons ? Why, old Gen’al Peyton, did n’t he 
use to ride with six black horses afore him, as if he ’d been 
a king ? Dere wan’t one of dem horses dat had n’t a tail 
as long as my arm. You never see no such critters in your 
life ! ” 

“ I han’t, han’t I ? ” said Old Hundred, now, in his turn, 
touched in a vital point. “ Bless me, if I han’t seen de Gor- 
dons riding out with der eight horses, any time o’ day ! ” 


tiff’s preparations. 


275 


“ Come, come, now, dere was n’t so many ! ” said Rose, 
who had her own reasons for staying on Tiff’s side. “ No- 
body never rode with eight horses ! ” 

“ Did too ! You say much more, I ’ll make sixteen on 
’em ! ’Fore my blessed master, how dese yer old niggers 
will lie ! Dey ’s always zaggerating der families. Makes 
de very har rise on my head, to hear dese yer old niggers 
talk, dey lie so ! ” said Old Hundred. 

“You tink folks dat take to lying is using up your busi- 
ness, don’t ye ? ” said Tiff. “ But, I tell you, any one dat 
says a word agin de Peytons got me to set in with ! ” 

“Laws, dem chil’en an’t Peytons I” said Old Hundred; 
“ dey ’s Crippses ; and I like to know who ever hearn of de 
Crippses? Go way! don’t tell me nothing about dem 
Crippses ! Dey ’s poor white folks ! A body may see dat 
sticking out all over ’em ! ” 

“ You shut up ! ” said Tiff. “ I don’t b’lieve you was 
born on de Gordon place, ’cause yo& an’t got no manners. 
I spects you some old, second-hand nigger, Colonel Gordon 
must a took for debt, some time, from some of dese yer mean 
Tennessee families, dat don’ know how to keep der money 
when dey gets it. Der niggers is allers de meanest kind. 
’Cause all de real Gordon niggers is ladies and gen’lemen — 
every one of ’em ! ” said Old Tiff, like a true orator, bent 
on carrying his audience along with him. 

A general shout chorused this compliment ; and Tiff, 
under cover of the applause, shook up his reins, and rode 
off in triumph. 

“ Dar, now, you aggravating old nigger,” said Rose, 
turning to her bosom lord, “ I hope yer got it now ! De 
plaguest old nigger dat ever I see ! And you, Tom, go 
’long and clean your knives, if yer don’t mean to be cracked 
over ! ” 

Meanwhile Tiff, restored to his usual tranquillity, ambled 
along homeward behind his one-eyed horse, singing “I’m 
bound for the land of Canaan,” with some surprising varia- 
tions. 


276 


TIFF'S PREPARATIONS. 


At last Miss Fanny, as he constantly called her, inter- 
posed with a very pregnant question. 

“ Uncle Tiff, where is the land of Canaan ? ” 

“ De Lord-a-mercy, chile, dat ar ’s what I ’d like to know, 
my self/ ; 

“ Is it heaven ? ” said Fanny. 

“ Well, I reckon so,” said Tiff, dubiously. 

“ Is it where ma is gone ? ” said Fanny. 

“ Chile, I reckon it is,” said Tiff. 

“ Is it down under ground ? ” said Fanny. 

“ Why, no 1 ho ! ho ! honey ! ” said Tiff, laughing heart- 
ily. “ What put dat ar in your head, Miss Fanny ? ” 

“ Did n’t ma go that way ? ” said Fanny ; “ down through 
the ground ? ” 

“ Lordy, no, chile ! Heaven ’s up ! ” said Tiff, pointing 
up to the intense blue sky which appeared through the 
fringy hollows of the pine-trees above them. 

“ Is there any stairs anywhere ? or any ladder to get up 
by ? ” said Fanny. “Or do they walk to where the sky 
touches the ground, and get up ? Perhaps they climb up 
on therainbow.” 

I “ rdon’ know, chile, how dey works it,” said Uncle 
Tiff. “ Dey gets dar somehow. I ’s studdn/ upon dat 
ar. I *s gwine to camp-meeting to find out. I 's been to 
plenty of dem ar, and I never could quite see clar. ’Pears 
like dey talks about everything else more ’n dey does about 
dat. Dere 7 s de Methodists, dey cuts up de Presbyter’ans ; 
and de Presbyter’ans pitches into de Methodists ; and den 
both on ’em ’s down on de ’Piscopals. My ole mist’ was 
’Piscopal, and I never seed no harm in ’t. And de Baptists 
think dey an’t none on ’em right ; and, while dey ’s all a 
blowing out at each other, dat ar way, I ’s a wondering 
whar ’s de way to Canaan. It takes a mighty heap o’ laming 
to know about dese yer mings, and I an’t got no laming. 
I don’ know nothing, only de Lord, he ’peared to your ma, 
and he knows de way, and he took her. But, now, chile, 
I ’s gwine to fix you up right smart, and take you, Teddy, 


tiff's preparations. 


277 


and de baby, to dis yer camp-meeting, so you can seek de 
Lord in yer youth." 

“ Tiff, if you please, I 'd rather not go ! " said Fanny, in 
an apprehensive tone. 

“ 0, bress de Lord, Miss Fanny, why not ? Fust-rate 
times dere." 

“ There 'll be too many people. I don't want them to 
see us." 

The fact was, that Rose's slant speech about Tiff's ma- 
ternal relationship, united with the sneers of Old Hundred, 
had their effect upon Fanny's mind. Naturally proud, and 
fearful of ridicule, she shrank from the public display which 
would thus be made of their family condition ; yet she 
would not for the world have betrayed to her kind old 
friend the real reason of her hesitation. But Old Tiff’s 
keen eye had noticed the expression of the child’s counte- 
nance at the time. If anybody supposes that the faithful 
old creature's heart was at all wounded by the perception, 
they are greatly mistaken. 

To Tiff it appeared a joke of the very richest quality; 
and, as he rode along in silence for some time, he indulged 
himself in one of his quiet, long laughs, actually shaking 
his old sides till the tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“ What's the matter with you, Tiff? " said Fanny. 

“ 0, Miss Fanny, Tiff knows ! — Tiff knows de reason ye 
don't want to go to camp-meeting. Tiff's seen it in yer 
face — ye ho ! hoi hoi Miss Fanny, is you 'fraid dey '11 
take Old Tiff for yer mammy ? — ye ho I ho I ho I — for yer 
mammy ? — and Teddy's, and de baby’s ? — bless his little 
soul I " And the amphibious old creature rollicked over 
the idea with infinite merriment. “ Don't I look like it, 
Miss Fanny ? Lord, ye por dear lamb, can’t folks see ye 's 
a born lady, with yer white, little hands ? Don't ye be 
'feared, Miss Fanny 1 " 

“I know it's silly," said Fanny; “but, beside, I don't 
like to be called poor while folksy /" 

** 0, chile, it 's only dein mean niggers I Miss Nina's 
24 


278 


tiff’s peeparahons. 


allers good to ye, an’t she ? Speaks to ye so handsome ! 
Ye must memorize dat ar, Miss Fanny, and talk like Miss 
Nina. I ’s ’feard, now yer ma ’s dead, ye ’ll fall into some 
o’ my nigger ways of talking. ’Member you mustn’t 
talk like Old Tiff, ’cause young ladies and gen’lemen 
must n’t talk like niggers. Now, I says ‘ dis and dat, dis 
yer and dat» ar.’ Dat ar is nigger talk, and por white 
folksy, too. Only de por white folks, dey ’s mis’able, ’cause 
niggers knows what ’s good talk, but dey does n’t. Lord, 
chile, Old Tiff knows what good talk is. An’t he heard de 
greatest ladies and gen’lemen in de land talk ? But he 
don’t want de trouble to talk dat ar way, ’cause he ’s a 
nigger I Tiff likes his own talk — it ’s good enough for 
Tiff. Tiff’s talk sarves him mighty well, I tell yer. But, 
den, white children must n’t talk so. Now, you see, Miss 
Nina has got de prettiest way of saying her word^. Dey 
drops out one after another, one after another, so prptty ! 
Now, you mind, ’cause she ’s coming to see us off and on — 
she promised so. And den you keep a good lookout how 
she walks, and how she holds her pocket-handkerchief. And 
when she sits down she kind o’ gives a little flirt to her 
clothes, so dey all set out round her like ruffles. Dese yer 
little ways ladies have I Why, dese yer por white folks, 
did yer ever mind der settin’ down ? Why, dey jist slaps 
down into a chair like a spoonful o’ mush, and der clothes 
all stick tight about ’em. I don’t want nothing poor white 
folksy ’bout you. Den, if you don’t understand what peo- 
ple ’s a saying to you, any time, you mustn’t star, like por 
white oliil’en, and say, ‘what?-’ but you must say ‘I beg 
pardon, sir,’ or, * I beg pardon, ma’am.’ Dat ar ’s de way. 
And, Miss Fanny, you and Teddy, you must study yer 
book^; ’cause, if you can’t read, den dey ’ll be sure to say 
yer por white folks. And, den, Miss Fafftiy, you see dat 
ladies don’t demean demselves with sweeping and scrub- 
bing, and dem tings ; and yet dey does work, honey ! Dey 
sews, and dey knits ; and it would be good for you to larn 
how to sew and knit ; ’cause, you know, I can’t allers make 


tiff’s preparations. 


279 


up all de clothes ; ’cause, you see, young ladies haves ways 
wid ’em dat niggers can’t get. Now, you see, Miss Fanny, 
all dese yer tings I was telling you, you must ’bserve. 
Now, you see, if you was one of dese yer por white folks, 
dere be no use of your trying ; ’cause dat ar ’scription o’ 
people could n’t never be ladies, if dey was waring them- 
selves out a trying. But, you see, you ’s got it in you ; you 
was born to it, honey. It ’s in de blood ; and what ’s in de 
blood must come out — ho t ho ! hoi ” And, with this final 
laugh, Tiff drew up to his dwelling. 

A busy day was before Old Tiff ; for he was to set 
his house in order for a week’s campaign. There was his 
corn to be hoed, his parsley to be weeded, there was his 
orphan family of young partridges to be cared for. And 
Tiff, after some considerable consideration, resolved to take 
them along with him in a basket ; thinking, in the intervals 
of devotion, he should have an abundant opportunity to 
minister to their wants, and superintend their education. 
Then he went to one of his favorite springes, and brought 
from thence, not a fatted calf, to be sure, but a fatted coon, 
which he intended to take with him, to serve as the basis 
of a savory stew on the camp-ground. Tiff had a thriving 
company of pot-herbs, and a flourishing young colony of 
onions ; so that, whatever might be true of the sermons, it 
was evident that the stew would lack no savor. Teddy’s 
clothes, also, were to be passed in review; washing and 
ironing to be done ; the baby fitted up to do honor to his % 
name, or rather to the name of his grandfather. With all 
these cares upon his mind, the old creature was even more 
than usually alert. The day was warm, and he resolved, 
therefore, to perform his washing operations in the magnif- 
icent kitchen of nature. He accordingly kindled a splendid 
bonfire, which was soon crackling at a short distance from 
the house, slung over it his kettle, and proceeded to some 
other necessary avocations. The pine-wood, which had 
been imperfectly seasoned, served him the ungracious trick 
that pine-wood is ant to do : it crackled and roared merrily 


280 


tiff’s preparations. 


while he was present, but while he was down examining 
his traps in the woods went entirely out, leaving only the 
blackened sticks. 

*'* Uncle Tiff,” said Teddy, “ the fire is all gone out ! ” 

“ Ho ! ho ! ho ! — Has it ? ” said Tiff, coming up. “ Cu- 
rus enough ! Well, bress de Lord, got all de wood left, any- 
way ; had a real bright fire, beside,” said Tiff, intent on 
upholding the sunniest side of things. “ Lord, it ’s de -eun 
dat puts de fire out o’ countenance. Did you ever see fire 
dat would n’t go out when de sun ’s shining right in its 
face ? Dat ar is a curus fact. I ’s minded it heaps o’ times. 
Well, I ’ll jist have to come out wid my light-wood kindlings, 
dat ’s all. Bress de Lord, ho ! ho I ho ! ” said Tiff, laugh- 
ing to himself, “ if dese yer an’t the very sp’rit of de camp- 
meeting professors 1 Dey blazes away at de camp-meeting, 
and den dey ’s black all de year round ! See ’em at de 
camp-meetings, you ’d say dey war gwine right into de 
kingdom, sure enough ! Well, Lord have marcy on us all ! 
Our ’ligion’s drefful poor stuff 1 We don’ know but a 
despert leetle, and what we does know we don’ do. De 
good Mas’r above must have his hands full, with us 1 ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 

The camp-meeting is one leading feature in the American 
development of religion, peculiarly suited to the wide extent 
of country, and to the primitive habits which generally ac- 
company a sparse population. Undoubtedly its general 
effects have been salutary. Its evils have been only those 
incident to any large gatherings, in which the whole popu- 
lation of a country are brought promiscuously together. 
As in many other large assemblies of worship, there are 
those who go for all sorts of reasons ; some from curiosity, 
some from love of excitement, some to turn a penny in a 
small way of trade, some to scoff, and a few to pray. .And, 
so long as the heavenly way remains straight and narrow 
so long the sincere and humble worshippers will ever be 
the minority in all assemblies. We can give no better idea 
of the difference of motive which impelled the various wor- 
shippers, than by taking our readers from scene to scene, on 
the morning when different attendants of the meeting were 
making preparations to start. 

Between the grounds of Mr. John Gordon and the planta- 
tion of Canema stood a log cabin, which was the trading 
establishment of Abijah Skinflint. The establishment was 
a nuisance in the eyes of the neighboring planters, from the 
general apprehension entertained that Abijah drove a brisk 
underhand trade with the negroes, and that the various arti- 
cles which he disposed for sale were many of them surrep- 
titiously conveyed to him in nightly instalments from off 
their own plantations. But of this nothing could be proved. 
24 * 


282 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


Abijah was a shrewd fellow, long, dry, lean, leathery, 
with a sharp nose, sharp, little gray eyes, a sharp chin, and 
fingers as long as bird’s-claws. His skin was so dry that 
one would have expected that his cheeks would crackle 
whenever he smiled, or spoke ; and he rolled in them a 
never-failing quid of tobacco. 

Abijah was one of those over-shrewd Yankees, who leave 
their country for their country’s good, and who exhibit, 
wherever they settle, such a caricature of the thrifty virtue 
of their native land as to justif} 7- the aversion which the 
native-born Southerner entertains for the Yankee. Abijah 
drank his own whiskey, — prudently, however, — or, as he 
said, “never so as not to know what he was about.” 

He had taken a wife from the daughters of the land ; who 
also drank whiskey, but less prudently than her husband, 
so that sometimes she did not know what she was about. 
Sons and daughters were born unto this promising couple, 
white-headed, forward, dirty, and ill-mannered. But, amid 
all domestic and social trials, Abijah maintained a constant 
and steady devotion to the main chance — the acquisition 
of money. For money he would do anything ; for money 
he would have sold his wife, his children, even his own 
soul, if he had happened to have one. But that article, 
had 'it ever existed, was now so small and dry, that one 
might have fancied it to rattle in his lean frame like a shriv- 
elled pea in a last year’s peascod. Abijah was going to the 
camp-meeting for two reasons. One, of course, was to make 
money; and the other was to know whether his favorite 
preacher, Elder Stringfellow, handled the doctrine of elec- 
tion according to his views ; for Abijah had a turn for theol- 
ogy, and could number off the five points of Calvinism on 
his five long fingers, with unfailing accuracy. 

It is stated in the Scriptures that the devils believe and 
tremble. The principal difference between their belief and 
Abijah’s was, that he believed and did not tremble. Truths 
awful enough to have shaken the earth, and veiled the sun, 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


283 


he could finger over with as much unconcern as a practised 
anatomist the dry bones of a skeleton. 

“ You, Sam ! ” said Abijah to his only negro helot, 
“ you mind, you steady that ar bar’l, so that it don’t roll 
out, and pour a pailful of water in at the bung. It won’t 
do to give it to ’em too strong. Miss Skinflint, you make 
haste ! If you don’t, I shan’t wait for you ; ’cause, whatever 
the rest may do, it ’s important I should be on the ground 
early. Many a dollar lost for not being in time, in this 
world. Hurry, woman ! ” 

“ I am ready, but Polly an’t I ” said Mrs. Skinflint. 
** She ’s busy a plastering down her hair.” 

“ Can’t wait for her! ” said Abijah, as he sallied out of 
the house to get into the wagon, which stood before the door, 
into which he had packed a copious supply of hams, eggs, 
dressed chickens, corn-meal, and green summer vegetables, 
to say nothing of the barrel of whiskey aforesaid. 

11 1 say, Dad, you stop ! ” called Polly, from the window. 
“ If you don’t, I ’ll make work- for you ’fore you come home ; 
you see if I don’t ! Durned if I won’t ! ” 

“ Come along, then, can’t you ? Next time we go any- 
where, I ’ll shut you up over night to begin to dress 1 ” 

Polly hastily squeezed her fat form into a red calico dress, 
and, seizing a gay summer shawl, with her bonnet in her 
hand, rushed to the wagon and mounted, the hooks of her 
dress successively exploding, and flying off, as she stooped 
to get in. 

“ Durned if I knows what to do ! ” said she ; “ this yer 
old durned gear coat ’s all off my back ! ” 

“ Gals is always fools ! ” said Abijah, consolingly. 

“ Stick in a pin, Polly,” said her mother, in an easy, sing- 
song drawl. 

“ Durn you, old woman, every hook is off!” said the 
promising young lady. 

“Stick in more pins, then,” said the mamma; and the 
vehicle of Abijah passed onward. 


284 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


On the verge of the swamp, a little beyond Tiffs cabin, 
lived Ben Dakin. 

Ben was a mighty hunter ; he had the best pack of dogs 
within thirty miles round ; and his advertisements, still to 
be seen standing in the papers of his native state, detailed 
with great accuracy the precise terms on which he would 
hunt down and capture any man, woman, or child, escap- 
ing from service and labor in that country. Our readers 
must not necessarily suppose Ben to have been a monster 
for all this, when they recollect that, within a few years, 
both the great political parties of our Union solemnly 
pledged themselves, as far as in them lay, to accept a sim- 
ilar vocation ; and, as many of them were in good and 
regular standing in churches, and had ministers to preach 
sermons to the same effect, we trust they '11 entertain no 
unreasonable prejudice against Ben on this account. 

In fact, Ben was a tall, broad-shouldered, bluff, hearty- 
looking fellow, who would do a kind turn for a neighbor 
with as much good-will as anybody ; and, except that he 
now and then took a little too much whiskey, as he him- 
self admitted, he considered himself quite as promising a 
candidate for the kingdom as any of the company who were 
going up to camp-meeting. Had any one ventured to 
remonstrate with Ben against the nature of his profession, 
he would probably have defended it by pretty much the 
same arguments by which modern theologians defend the 
institution of which it is a branch. 

Ben was just one of those jovial fellows who never could 
bear to be left behind in anything that was going on in the 
community, and was always one of the foremost in a camp- 
meeting. He had a big, loud voice, and could roll out the 
chorus of hymns with astonishing effect. He was generally 
converted at every gathering of this kind ; though, through 
the melancholy proclivity to whiskey, before alluded to, he 
usually fell from grace before the year was out. Like many 
other big and hearty men, he had a little, pale, withered, 
moonshiny wisp of a wife, who hung on his elbow much 


THE WORSHIPPERS^ 


285 


like an empty work-bag ; and Ben, to do him justice, was 
kind to the wilted little mortal, as if he almost suspected 
that he had absorbed her vitality into his own exuberant 
growth. She was greatly given to eating clay, cleaning 
her teeth with snuff, and singing Methodist hymns, and had 
a very sincere concern for Ben’s salvation. The little 
woman sat resignedly on the morning we speak of, while a 
long-limbed, broad-shouldered child, of two years, with bristly 
white hair, was pulling her by her ears and hair, and other* 
wise maltreating her, to make her get up to give him a 
piece of bread and molasses ; and she, without seeming to 
attend to the child, was giving earnest heed to her hus- 
band. 

“There’s a despit press of business now!” said Ben. 
“ There ’s James’s niggers, and Smith’s Polly, and we ought 
to be on the trail, right away ! ” 

“ 0, Ben, you ought to ’tend to your salvation afore 
anything else ! ” said his wife. 

“ That ’s true enough ! ” said Ben ; “ meetings don’t come 
every day.” 

“But what are we to do with dis yer ’un ? ” pointing to 
the door of an inner room. 

“Dis yer ’un ” was no other than a negro-woman, named 
Nance, who had been brought in by the dogs, the day 
before. 

“ Laws ! ” said his wife, “ we can set her something to 
eat, and leave the dogs in front of the door. She can’t get 
out.” 

Ben threw open the door, and displayed to view a low 
kind of hutch, without any other light than that between 
the crevices of the logs. On the floor, which was of hard- 
trodden earth, sat a sinewy, lean negro-woman, drawing 
up her knees with her long arms, and resting her chin upon 
them. 

“Hollo, Nance, how are you?” said Ben, rather cheer- 

fly. 

“ Por’ly, mas’r,” said the other, in a sullen tone. 


286 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


“ Nance, you think your old man will whale you, when 
he gets you ? ” said Ben. 

u I reckons he will,” said Nance ; “ he allers does.” 

“ Well, Nance, the old woman and I want to go to a 
camp-meeting ; and I ’ll just tell you what it is, — you stay 
here quiet, while we are gone, and I ’ll make the old fellow 
promise not to wallop you. I would n’t mind taking off 
something of the price — that ’s fair, an’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, mas’r 1 ” said the woman, in the same subdued 
tone. 

“ Does your foot hurt you much ? ” said Ben. 

“ Yes, mas’r ! ” said the woman. 

“ Let me look at it,” said Ben. 

The woman put out one foot, which had been loosely 
bound up in old rags, now saturated in blood. 

“ I declar, if that ar dog an’t a pealer ! ” said Ben. 
“ Nance, you ought ter have stood still ; then he would n’t 
have hurt you so.” 

“ Lord, he hurt me so I could n’t stand still ! ” said the 
woman. “It an’t natur to stand still with a critter’s teeth 
in yer foot.” 

“ Well, I don’t know as it is,” said Ben, good-naturedly. 
“ Here, Miss Dakin, you bind up this here gal’s foot. Stop 
your noise, sir-ee ! ” he added, to the young aspirant for 
bread and molasses, who, having despatched one piece, was 
clamoring vigorously for another. 

“ I ’ll tell you what ! ” said Ben, to his wife, “lam going 
to talk to that ar old Elder Settle. I runs more niggers for 
him than any man in the county, and I know there ’s some 
reason for it. Niggers don’t run into swamps when they ’s 
treated well. Folks that professes religion, I think, ought n’t 
to starve their niggers, no way ! ” 

Soon the vehicle of Ben was also on the road. He gath- 
ered up the reins vigorously, threw back his head to get 
the full benefit of his lungs, and commenced a vehement 
camp-meeting melody, to the tune of 

“ Am I a soldier of the cross, 

A follower of the Lamb ? ” 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 287 

A hymn, by the by, which was one of Ben’s particular 
favorites. 

We come next to Tiff’s cottage, of which the inmates 
were astir, in the coolness of the morning, bright and early. 
Tiff’s wagon was a singular composite article, principally 
of his own construction. The body of it consisted of a 
long packing-box. The wheels were all odd ones, that 
had been brought home at different times by Cripps. The 
shafts were hickory-poles, thinned at one end, and fastened 
to the wagon by nails. Some barrel-hoops bent over the 
top, covered by coarse white cotton cloth, formed the cur- 
tains, and a quantity of loose straw dispersed inside was 
the only seat. The lean, one-eyed horse was secured to 
this vehicle by a harness made of old ropes ; but no million- 
naire, however, ever enjoyed his luxuriantly-cushioned coach 
with half the relish with which Tiff enjoyed his equipage. 
It was the work of his hands, the darling of his heart, 
the delight of his eyes. To be sure, like other mortal 
darlings, it was to be admitted that it had its weak points 
and failings. The wheels would now and then come off, the 
shafts get loose, or the harness break ; but Tiff was always 
prepared, and, on occasion of any such mishaps, would 
jump out and attend to them with such cheerful alacrity, 
that, if anything, he rather seemed to love it better for the 
accident. There it stands now, before the enclosure of the 
little cabin ; and Tiff, and Fanny, and Teddy, with bustling 
assiduity, are packing and arranging it. The gum-tree 
cradle-trough took precedence of all other articles. Tiff, 
by the private advice of Aunt Rose, had just added to this 
an improvement, which placed it, in his view, tip-top among 
cradles. He had nailed to one end of it a long splint of 
elastic hickory, which drooped just over the baby’s face. 
From this was suspended a morsel of salt pork, which this 
young scion of a noble race sucked with a considerate relish, 
while his large, round eyes opened and shut with sleepy 
satisfaction. This arrangement Rose had recommended, in 
mysterious tones, as all powerful in making sucking babies 


288 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


forget their mammies, whom otherwise they might pine for in 
a manner prejudicial to their health. 

Although the day was sultry, Tiff was arrayed in his 
long-skirted white great-coat, as his nether garments were 
in too dilapidated a state to consist with the honor of the 
family. His white felt hat still bore the band of black 
crape. 

“ It 's a 'mazin' good day, bless de Lord ! " said Tiff. 
“ 'Pears like dese yer birds would split der treats, praising 
de Lord! It 's a mighty good zample to us, any way. 
You see, Miss Fanny, you never see birds put out, nor 
snarly like, rain or shine. Ley 's allers a praising de Lord. 
Lord, it seems as if critters is better dan we be ! " And, 
as Tiff spoke, he shouldered into the wagon a mighty bag 
of corn ; but, failing in what he meant to do, the bag slid 
over the side, and tumbled back into the road. Being 
somewhat of the oldest, the fall burst it asunder, and the 
corn rolled into the sand, with that provoking alacrity which 
things always have when they go the wrong way. Fanny 
and Teddy both uttered an exclamation of lamentation ; but 
Tiff held on to his sides and laughed till the tears rolled 
down his cheeks. 

“ He ! he ! he ! ho ! ho ! ho ! Why, dat ar is de last 

bag we 's got, and dar 's all de corn a running out in de 

sand ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! Lord, it 's so curus ! " 

“ Why, what are you going to do ? " said Fanny. 

“ 0, bress you, Miss Fanny," said Tiff, “ I 's bound to do 
something, any how. 'Clare for it, now, if I han't got a 
box ! " And Tiff soon returned with the article in question, 
which proved too large for the wagon. The corn, however, 
was emptied into it pro tem., and Tiff, producing his darning- 
needle and thimble, sat down seriously to the task of stitch- 
ing up the hole. 

“ De Lord's things an't never in a hurry," said Tiff. 

“ Corn and 'tatoes will have der time, and why should n't 

I ? Dar," he said, after having mended the bag and replaced 
the corn, “ dat ar 's better now nor 't was before." 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


289 


Besides his own store of provisions, Tiff prudently laid 
into his wagon enough of garden stuff to turn a penny for 
Miss Fanny and the children, on the camp-ground. His 
commissariat department, in fact, might have provoked ap- 
petite, even among the fastidious. There were dressed 
chickens and rabbits, the coon aforesaid, bundles of savory 
herbs, crisp, dewy lettuce, bunches of onions, radishes, 
and green peas. 

“ Tell ye what, chil’en,” said Tiff, “we’ll live like 
princes ! And, you mind, order me round well. I^et folks 
har ye ; ’cause what ’s de use of having a nigger, and no- 
body knowing it ? ” 

And, everything being arranged, Tiff got in, and jogged 
comfortably along. At the turn of the cross-road, Tiff, 
looking a little behind, saw, on the other road, the Gordon 
carriage coming, driven by Old Hundred, arrayed in his 
very best ruffled shirt, white gloves, and gold hat-band. 

If ever Tiff came near having a pang in his heart, it was 
at that moment ; but he retreated stoutly upon the idea that, 
however appearances might be against- them, his family was 
no less ancient and honorable for that ; and, therefore, put- 
ting on all his dignity, he gave his beast an extra cut, as 
who should say, “ I don’t care.” 

But, as ill-luck would have it, the horse, at this instant, 
giving a jerk, wrenched out the nails that fastened the shaft 
on one side, and it fell, trailing dishonored on the ground. 
The rope harness pulled all awry, and just at this moment 
the Gordon carriage swept up. 

“ ’Fore I ’d drive sich old trash ! ” said Old Hundred, 
scornfully ; “ pulls all to pieces every step ! If dat ar an’t 
a poor white folksy ’stablishment, I never seed one 1 ” 

“ What ’s the matter ? ” said Nina, putting her head out. 
“ 0, Tiff! good-morning, my good fellow. Can we help 
you, there ? John, get down and help him.” 

“ Please, Miss Nina, de hosses is so full o’ tickle, dis yer 
mornin’, I could n’t let go, no ways ! ” said Old Hundred. 

“ 0, laws bless you, Miss Nina,” said Tiff, restored to his 
25 


200 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


usual spirits, “ ’t an't nothin’. Broke in a strordinary 
good place dis yer time. I ken hammer it up in a minute.” 

And Tiff was as good as his word ; for a round stone and 
big nail made all straight. 

“ Pray,” said Nina, '‘how are little Miss Fanny, and the 
children ? ” 

Miss Fanny 1 If Nina had heaped Tiff with presents, she 
could not have conferred the inexpressible obligation con- 
veyed in these words. He bowed low to the ground, with 
the weight of satisfaction, and answered that “ Miss Fanny 
and the chiPen were well.” 

“There,” said Nina, “John, you may drive on. Bo you 
know, friends, I We set Tiff up for six weeks, by one word ? 
Just saying Miss Fanny has done more for him than if Pd 
sent him six bushels of potatoes.” * * * * 

We have yet to take our readers to one more scene 
before we finish the review of those who were going to the 
camp-meeting. The reader must follow us far beyond the 
abodes of man, into the recesses of that wild desolation 
known as the “ Dismal Swamp.” We pass over vast tracts 
where the forest seems growing out of the water. Cypress, 
red cedar, sweet gum, tulip, poplar, beech, and holly, 
form a goodly fellowship, waving their rustling boughs 
above. The trees shoot up in vast columns, fifty, seventy- 
five, and a hundred feet in height ; and below are clusters 
of evergreen gall-bushes, with their thick and glossy 
foliage, mingled in with swamp honeysuckles, grape-vines, 
twining brier, and laurels, and other shrubs, forming an 
impenetrable thicket. The creeping plants sometimes climb 
seventy or eighty feet up the largest tree, and hang in heavy 
festoons from their branches. It would seem impossible 
Uiat human foot could penetrate the wild, impervious jungle ; 
Vut we must take our readers through it, to a cleared spot, 
wkere trunks of fallen trees, long decayed, have formed an 
•«land of vegetable mould, which the art of some human 
hand has extended and improved. The clearing is some 
sixty yards long by thirty broad, and is surrounded with a 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


291 


natural rampart, which might well bid defiance to man or 
beast. Huge trees have been felled, with all their branches 
lying thickly one over another, in a circuit around ; and 
nature, seconding the efforts of the fugitives who sought 
refuge here, has interlaced the frame-work thus made with 
thorny cat-briers, cables of grape-vine, and thickets of 
Virginia creeper, which, running wild in their exuberance, 
climb on to the neighboring trees, and, swinging down, 
again lose themselves in the mazes from which they spring, 
so as often to form a verdurous wall fifty feet in height. 
In some places the laurel, with its glossy green leaves, and 
its masses of pink-tipped snowy blossoms, presents to the 
eye, rank above rank, a wilderness of beauty. The pendants 
of the yellow jessamine swing to and fro in the air like 
censers, casting forth clouds of perfume. A thousand 
twining vines, with flowers of untold name, perhaps un- 
known as yet to the botanist, help to fill up the mosaic. 
The leafy ramparts sweep round on all the sides of the clear- 
ing, for the utmost care has been taken to make it impene- 
trable ; and, in that region of heat and moisture, nature, in 
the course of a few weeks, admirably seconds every human 
effort. The only egress from it is a winding path cut 
through with a hatchet, which can be entered by only one 
person at a time ; and the water which surrounds this 
island entirely cuts off the trail from the scent of dogs. It 
is to be remarked that the climate, in the interior of the 
swamp, is far from being unhealthy. Lumber-men, who 
spend great portions of the year in it, cutting shingles and 
staves, testify to the general salubrity of the air and water. 
The opinion prevails among them that the quantity of pine 
and other resinous trees that grow there, impart a balsamic 
property to the water, and impregnate the air with a healthy 
resinous fragrance, which causes it to be an exception to the 
usual rule of the unhealthiness of swampy land. The soil also, 
when drained sufficiently for purposes of culture, is profusely 
fertile. Two small cabins stood around the border of the 
clearing, but the centre was occupied with patches of corn 


292 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


and sweet potatoes, planted there to secure as much as pos- 
sible the advantage of sun and air. 

At the time we take our readers there, the afternoon sun 
of a sultry June day is casting its long shadows over the 
place, and a whole choir of birds is echoing in the brauches. 
On the ground, in front of one of the cabins, lies a negro- 
man, covered with blood ; two women, with some little 
children, are grouped beside him ; and a wild figure, 
whom we at once recognize as Dred, is kneeling by him, 
busy in efforts to stanch a desperate wound in the neck. 
In vain ! The red blood spurts out at every pulsation of 
the heart, with a fearful regularity, telling too plainly that 
it is a great life-artery which has been laid open. The 
negro-woman, kneeling on the other side, is anxiously hold- 
ing some bandages, which she has stripped from a portion 
of her raiment. 

“ 0, put these on, quick — do ! ” 

“ It ’s no use/’ said Dred ; “ he is going ! ” 

“ 0’ do ! — don’t, don’t let him go 1 Can’t you save him ? ” 
said the woman, in tones of agony. 

The wounded man’s eyes opened, and first fixed them- 
selves, with a vacant stare, on the blue sky above ; then, 
turning on the woman, he seemed to try to speak. He had 
had a strong arm ; he tries to raise it, but the blood wells 
up with the effort, the eye glazes, the large frame shivers 
for a few moments, and then all is still. The blood stops 
flowing now, for the heart has stopped beating, and an im- 
mortal soul has gone back to Him who gave it. 

The man was a fugitive from a neighboring plantation — 
a simple-hearted, honest fellow, who had fled, with his wife 
and children, to save her from the licentious persecution of 
the overseer. Dred had received and sheltered him ; had 
built him a cabin, and protected him for months. 

A provision of the Revised Statutes of North Carolina 
enacts that slaves thus secreted in the swamps, not return- 
ing within a given time, shall be considered outlawed ; and 
that “ it shall be lawful for any person or persons whatso- 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


293 


ever to kill and destroy such slaves, by such ways and 
means as they shall think fit, without any accusation or 
impeachment of crime for the same.” It also provides that, 
when any slave shall be killed in consequence of such out- 
lawry, the value of such slave shall be ascertained by a jury, 
and the owner entitled to receive two thirds of the valua- 
tion from the sheriff of the county wherein the slave was 
killed. 

In olden times, the statute provided that the proclama- 
tion of outlawry should be published on a Sabbath day, at 
the door of any church or chapel, or place where divine 
service should be performed, immediately after divine ser- 
vice, by the parish clerk or reader. 

In the spirit of this permission, a party of negro-hunters, 
with dogs and guns, had chased this man, who, on this day, 
had unfortunately ventured out of his concealment. 

He succeeded in outrunning all but one dog, which sprang 
up, and, fastening his fangs in his throat, laid him prostrate 
within a few paces of his retreat. Dred came up in time to 
kill the dog, but the wound, as appeared, had proved a 
mortal one. 

As soon as the wife perceived that her husband was really 
dead, she broke into a loud wail. 

“ 0, dear, he ’& gone 1 and ; t was all for me he did it ! 
0, he was so good, such a good man I 0, do tell me, is he 
dead, is he ? ” 

Dred lifted the yet warm hand in his a moment, and then 
dropped it heavily. 

“ Dead ! ” he said, in a deep undertone of suppressed 
emotion. Suddenly kneeling down beside him, he lifted 
his hands, and broke forth with wild vehemence : 

“ 0, Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth, show thy- 
self! Lift up thyself, thou Judge of the earth, render a 
reward to the proud ! Doubtless thou art our Father, though 
Abraham be ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge us not. 
Thou, 0 Lord, art our Father, our Redeemer ; thy ways are 
everlasting; — where is thy zeal and thy strength, and the 
25 * 


294 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


sounding of thy bowels towards us ? Are they restrained ? ” 
Then, tossing his hands to heaven, with a yet wilder gesture, 
he almost screamed, “ 0, Lord! 0, Lord! how long? 0, 
that thou wouldst rend the heavens and come down ! 0, let 

the sighings of the prisoner come before thee 1 Our bones 
are scattered at the grave's mouth, as when one cutteth and 
cleaveth wood ! We are given as sheep to the slaughter I 
We are killed all the day long ! 0, Lord, avenge us of 

our adversaries ! ” 

These words were spoken with a vehement earnestness 
of gesture and voice, that hushed the lamentation of the 
mourners. Rising up from his knees, he stood a moment 
looking down at the lifeless form before him. “ See here,” 
he said, “ what harm had this man done ? Was he not 
peaceable? Did he not live here in quietness, tilling the 
ground in the sweat of his brow ? Why have they sent the 
hunters upon him ? Because he wanted to raise his corn 
for himself, and not for another. Because he wanted his 
wife for himself, and not for another. Was not the world 
wide enough ? Is n't there room enough under the sky ? 
Because this man wished to eat the fruit of his own labor, 
the decree went forth against him, even the curse of Cain, 
so that whosoever findeth him shall kill him. Will not 
the Lord be avenged on such a people as this ? To-night 
they will hold their solemn assembly, and blow the trumpet 
in their new moon, and the prophets will prophesy falsely, 
and the priests will speak wickedly Concerning oppression. 
The word of the Lord saith unto me, ‘ Go unto this people, 
and break before them the staff beauty and the staff 
bands, and be a sign unto this people of the terror of the 
Lord. Behold, saith the Lord, therefore have I raised thee 
up and led thee through the wilderness, through the deso- 
late places of the land not sown.' ” 

As Dred spoke, his great black eye seemed to enlarge 
itself and roll with a glassy fulness, like that of a sleep- 
walker in a somnambulic dream. His wife, seeing him pre- 
pare to depart, threw herself upon him. 


THE WORSHIPPERS. 


295 


11 0, don’t, don’t leave us ! You ’ll be killed, some of these 
times, just as they killed him ! ” 

“ Woman ! the burden of the Lord is upon me. The word 
of the Lord is as a fire shut up in my bones. The Lord 
saith unto me, 1 Go show unto this people their iniquity, 
and be a sign unto this evil nation ! ’ ” 

Breaking away from his wife, he precipitated himself 
through an opening into the thicket, and wa§ gone 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 

The place selected for the camp-meeting was in one of 
the most picturesque portions of the neighborhood. It was 
a small, partially-cleared spot, in the midst of a dense for- 
est, which stretched away in every direction, in cool, green 
aisles of checkered light and shade. 

In the central' clearing, a sort of rude amphitheatre of 
seats was formed of rough-pine slabs. Around on the edges 
of the forest the tents of the various worshippers were 
pitched ; for the spending of three or four days and nights 
upon the ground is deemed an essential part of the service 
The same clear stream which wound round the dwelling of 
Tiff prattled its way, with a modest gurgle, through this 
forest, and furnished the assembly with water. 

The Gordons, having come merely for the purposes of 
curiosity, and having a residence in the neighborhood, did 
not provide themselves with a tent. The servants, however, 
were less easily satisfied. Aunt Rose shook her head, and 
declared, oracularly, that “ De blessing was sure to come 
down in de night, and dem dat wanted to get a part of it 
would have to be dar ! ” 

Consequently, Nina was beset to allow her people to have 
a tent, in which they were to take turns in staying all night, 
as candidates for the blessing. In compliance with that law 
of good-humored indulgence which had been the tradition- 
ary usage of her family, Nina acceded ; and the Gordon tent 
spread its snowy sails, to the rejoicing of their hearts. Aunt 
Rose predominated about the door, alternately slapping the 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


297 


children and joining the chorus of hymns which she heard 
from every part of the camp-ground. On the outskirts 
were various rude booths, in which whiskey and water, and 
sundry articles of provision, and fodder for horses, were dis- 
pensed for a consideration. Abijah Skinflint here figured 
among the money-changers, while his wife and daughter 
were gossiping through the tents of the women. In front 
of the seats, under a dense cluster of pines, was the preach- 
ers' stand : a rude stage of rough boards, with a railing 
around it, and a desk of small slabs, supporting a Bible 
and a hymn-book. 

The preachers were already assembling ; and no small cu- 
riosity was expressed with regard to them by the people, who 
were walking up and down among the tents. Nina, leaning 
on the arm of Clayton, walked about the area with the rest. 
Anne Clayton leaned on the arm of Uncle John. Aunt 
Nesbit and Aunt Maria came behind. To Nina the 
scene was quite new, for a long residence in the North- 
ern States had placed her out of the way of such things ; 
and her shrewd insight into character, and her love of 
drollery, found an abundant satisfaction in the various 
little points and oddities of the scene. They walked to the 
Gordon tent, in which a preliminary meeting was already in 
full course. A circle of men and women, interspersed with 
children, were sitting, with their eyes shut, and their heads 
thrown back, singing at the top of their voices. Occasion- 
ally, one or other would vary the exercises by clapping of 
hands, jumping up straight into the air, falling flat on the 
ground, screaming, dancing, and laughing. 

“ 0, set me up on a rock ! ” screamed one. 

“ I 's sot up ! " screamed another. 

“Glory!" cried the third, and a tempest of “amens” 
poured in between. 

“ I ’s got a sperience ! ” cried one, and forthwith began 
piping it out in a high key, while others kept on singing. 

“ I 's got a sperience ! ” shouted Tomtit, whom Aunt 
Rose, with maternal care, had taken with her. 


298 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


*' No, you an't, neither ! Sit down ! " said Aunt Rose, 
kneading him down as if he had been a batch of biscuits, 
and going on at the same time with her hymn. 

“ I 's on the Rock of Ages ! " screamed a neighbor. 

“ I want to get on a rock edgeways ! " screamed Tomtit, 
struggling desperately with Aunt Rose's great fat hands. 

“ Mind yourself! — I'll crack you over ! " said Aunt Rose. 
And Tomtit, still continuing rebellious, was cracked over 
accordingly, with such force as to send him head-foremost 
on the straw at the bottom of the tent ; an indignity which 
he resented with loud howls of impotent wrath, which, 
however, made no impression in the general whirlwind of 
screaming, shouting, and praying. 

Nina and Uncle John stood at the tenbdoor laughing 
heartily. Clayton looked on with his usual thoughtful grav- 
ity of aspect. Anne turned her head away with an air of 
disgust. 

“ Why don't you laugh ? " said Nina, looking round at 
her. 

“ It does n't make me feel like it," said Anne. “ It 
makes me feel melancholy." 

“ Why so ? " 

“ Because religion is a sacred thing with me, and I don't 
like to see it travestied," said she. 

“ 0," said Nina, “ I don't respect religion any the less 
for a good laugh at its oddities. I believe I was born with- 
out any organ of reverence, and so don't feel the incongruity 
of the thing as you do. The distance between laughing and 
praying is n't so very wide in my mind as it is in some 
people's." 

“ We must have charity," said Clayton, “ for every reli- 
gious manifestation. Barbarous and half-civilized people 
always find the necessity for outward and bodily demonstra- 
tion in worship ; I suppose because the nervous excitement 
wakes up and animates their spiritual natures, and gets 
them into a receptive state, just as you have to shake up 
sleeping persons and shout in their ears to put them in a 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


299 


condition to understand you. I have known real conver- 
sions to take place under just these excitements.” 

“ But,” said Anne, “ I think we might teach them to be 
decent. These things ought not to be allowed ! ” 

“ I believe,” said Clayton, “intolerance is a rooted vice 
in our nature. The world is as full of different minds and 
bodies as the woods are of leaves, and each one has its 
own habit of growth. And yet our first impulse is to forbid 
everything that would not be proper for us. No, let the 
African scream, dance, and shout, and fall in trances. It 
suits his tropical lineage and blood, as much as our thought- 
ful inward ways do us.” 

“ I wonder who that is 1 ” said Nina, as a general move- 
ment on the ground proclaimed the arrival of some one who 
appeared to be exciting general interest. The stranger was 
an unusually tall, portly man, apparently somewhat past the 
middle of life, whose erect carriage, full figure, and red 
cheeks, and a certain dashing frankness of manner, might 
have indicated him as belonging rather to the military than 
the clerical profession. He carried a rifle on his shoulder, 
which he set down carefully against the corner of the preach- 
ers’ stand, and went around shaking hands among the com- 
pany with a free and jovial air that might almost be described 
by the term rollicking. 

“ Why,” said Uncle John, “ that ’s father Bonnie 1 How 
are you, my fine fellow ? ” 

“What! you , Mr. Gordon? — How do you do?” said 
father Bonnie, grasping his hand in his, and shaking it 
heartily. “ Why, they tell me,” he said, looking at him 
with a jovial smile, “ that you have fallen from grace ! ” 

“ Even so ! ” said Uncle John. “ I am a sad dog, I dare 
say.” 

“ 0, I tell you what,” said father Bonnie, “ but it takes 
a strong hook and a long line to pull in you rich sinners ! 
Your money-bags and your niggers hang round you like 
mill-stones ! You are too tough for the Gospel ! "Ah ! ” 
said he, shaking his fist at him, playfully, “ but I ’m going 


300 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


to come down upon you, to-day, with the law, I can tell 
you ! You want the thunders of Sinai ! You must have a 
dose of the law ! " 

“ Well;” said Uncle John, “ thunder away! I suppose 
we need it, all of us. But, now, father Bonnie, you minis- 
ters are always preaching to us poor dogs on the evils of 
riches ; but, somehow, I don't see any of you that are much 
afraid of owning horses, or niggers, or any 6ther good thing 
that you can get your hands on. Now, I hear that you 've 
got a pretty snug little place, and a likely drove to work it. 
You 'll have to look out for your own soul, father Bonnie ! " 

A general laugh echoed this retort ; for father Bonnie had 
the reputation of being a shrewder hand at a bargain, and 
of having more expertness in swapping a horse or trading a 
negro, than any other man for six counties round. 

“He's into you, now, old man!" said several of the 
bystanders, laughingly. 

“ 0, as to that," said father Bonnie, laughing, also, lt I 
go in with Paul, — they that preach the Gospel must live of 
the Gospel. Now, Paul was a man that stood up for his 
rights to live as other folks do. * Is n't it right,' says he, 
' that those that plant a vineyard should first eat of the fruit ? 
Have n't we power to lead about a sister, a wife ? ' says he. 
And if Paul had lived in our time he would have said a 
drove of niggers, too ! No danger about us ministers being 
hurt by riches, while you laymen are so slow about sup- 
porting the Gospel ! " 

At the elbow of father Bonnie stood a broths minister, 
who was in many respects his contrast. He was tall, thin, 
and stooping, with earnest black eyes, and a serene sweet- 
ness of expression. A thread-bare suit of rusty black, 
evidently carefully worn, showed the poverty of his worldly 
estate. He carried in his hand a small portmanteau, prob- 
ably containing a change of linen, his Bible, and a few 
sermons. Father Dickson was a man extensively known 
through all that region. lie was one of those men among 
the ministers of America, who keep alive our faith in Chris- 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


301 


tianity, and renew on earth the portrait of the old apostle : 
“ In journeyings often, in weariness and painfulness, in 
watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, 
in cold and nakedness. Besides those things that are with- 
out, that which cometh upon them daily, the care of all 
the churches. Who is weak, and they are not weak ? who 
is offended, and they burn not ? ” 

Every one in the state knew and respected father Dick- 
son ; and, like the generality of the world, people were 
very well pleased, and thought it extremely proper and 
meritorious for him to bear weariness and painfulness, hun- 
ger and cold, in their spiritual service, leaving to them the 
right of attending or not attending to him, according to 
their own convenience. Father Dickson was one of those 
who had never yielded to the common customs and habits 
of the country in regard to the holding of slaves. A few, 
who had been left him by a relation, he had at great trouble 
and expense transported to a free state, and settled there 
comfortably. The world need not trouble itself with seek- 
ing to know or reward such men ; for the world cannot 
know and has no power to reward them. Their citizenship 
is in heaven, and all that can be given them in this life is 
like a morsel which a peasant gives in his cottage to him 
who to-morrow will reign over a kingdom. 

He had stood listening to the conversation thus far with the 
grave yet indulgent air with which he generally listened to 
the sallies of his ministerial brothers. Father Bonnie* though 
not as much respected or confided in as father Dickson, had, 
from the frankness of his manners, and a certain rude but 
effective styl§ of eloquence, a more general and apparent pop- 
ularity. Tie produced more sensation on the camp-ground ; 
could sing louder and longer, and would often rise into 
flights of eloquence both original and impressive. Many 
were offended by the freedom of his manner out of the pul- 
pit ; and the stricter sort were known to have said of him, 
** that when out he never ought to be in, and when in 
26 


302 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


never out.” As the laugh that rose at his last sally died 
away, he turned to father Dickson, and said : 

“ What do you think ? ” 

" I don't think,” said father Dickson, mildly, “ that you 
would ever have found Paul leading a drove of negroes.” 

“ Why not, as well as Abraham, the father of the faith- 
ful ? Did n't he have three hundred trained servants ?” 

“ Servants, perhaps ; but not slaves ! ” said father Dick- 
son, “ for they all bore arms. For my part, I think that the 
buying, selling, and trading, of human beings for purposes 
of gain, is a sin in the sight of God.” 

“ Well, now, father Dickson, I would n't have thought 
you had read your Bible to so little purpose as that ! I 
would n't believe it ! What do you say to Moses ? ” 

“ He led out a whole army of fugitive slaves through the 
Red Sea,” said father Dickson. 

“ Well, I tell you, now,” said father Bonnie, “ if the buy- 
ing, selling, or holding, of a slave for the sake of gain, is, as 
you say, a sin, then three fourths of all the Episcopalians, 
Methodists, Baptists, and Presbyterians, in the slav,e states 
of the Union, are of the devil ! ” 

“ I think it is a sin, notwithstanding,” said father Dick- 
son, quietly. 

“ Well, but does n't Moses say expressly, 1 Ye shall buy 
of the heathen round about you ' ? ” 

“ There 's into him ! ” said a Georgia trader, who, having 
camped with a coffle of negroes in the neighborhood, had 
come up to camp-meeting. 

“ All those things,” said father Dickson, “ belong to the 
old covenant, which Paul says was annulled for the weak- 
ness and unprofitableness thereof, and have nothing to do 
with us, who have risen with Christ. We have got past 
Mount Sinai and the wilderness, and have come unto Mount 
Zion ; and ought to seek the things that are above, where 
Christ sitteth.” 

“ I eay, brother,” said another of the ministers, tapping 
him on the shoulder, " it 's time for the preaching to begin. 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


303 


You can finish your discussion some other time. Come, 
father Bonnie, come forward, here, and strike up the hymn.” 

Father Bonnie accordingly stepped to the front of the 
stand, and with him another minister, of equal height and 
breadth of frame, and, standing with their hats on, they 
uplifted, in stentorian voices, the following hymn : 


“ Brethren, don’t you hear the sound ? 

The martial trumpet now is blowing ; 

Men in order ’listing round. 

And soldiers to the standard flowing.” 

As the sound of the hymn rolled through the aisles and 
arches of the wood, the heads of different groups, who had 
been engaged in conversation, were observed turning toward 
the stand, and voices from every part of the camp-ground 
took up the air, as, suiting the action to the words, they 
began flowing to the place of preaching. The hymn went 
on, keeping up the same martial images : 


“ Bounty offered, life and peace ; 

To every soldier this is given, 

When the toils of life shall cease, 

A mansion bright, prepared in heaven.” 


As the throng pressed up, and came crowding from the 
distant aisles of the wood, the singers seemed to exert 
themselves to throw a wilder vehemence into the song, 
stretching out their arms and beckoning eagerly. They 
went on singing : 


“ You need not fear ; the cause is good, 
Let who will to the crown aspire : 

In this cause the martyrs bled, 

And shouted victory in the fire. 

" In this cause let ’s follow on, 

And soon we ’ll tell the pleasing story, 
How by faith we won the crown, 

And fought our way to life and glory. 


304 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


(t 0, ye rebels, come and ’list ! 

The officers are now recruiting : 

Why will you in sin persist, 

Or waste your time in vain disputing ? 


«* All excuses now are vain ; 

, For, if you do not sue for favor, 

Down you’ll sink to endless pain, 

And bear the wrath of God forever.” 

There is always something awful in the voice of the mul- 
titude. It would seem as if the breath that a crowd 
breathed out together, in moments of enthusiasm, carried 
with it a portion of the dread and mystery of their own im- 
mortal natures. The whole area before the pulpit, and in 
the distant aisles of the forest, became one vast, surging sea 
of sound, as negroes and whites, slaves and freemen, saints 
and sinners, slave-holders, slave-hunters, slave-traders, min- 
isters, elders, and laymen, alike joined in the pulses of that 
mighty song. A flood of electrical excitement seemed to 
rise with it, as, with a voice of many waters, the rude chant 
went on : 

" Hark ! the victors singing loud ! 

Emanuel’s chariot-wheels are rumbling ; 

Mourners weeping through the crowd. 

And Satan’s kingdom down is tumbling ! ” 


Our friend, Ben Dakin, pressed to the stand, and, with 
tears streaming down his cheeks, exceeded all others in the 
energy of his vociferations. Ben had just come from almost 
a fight with another slavejiunter, who had boasted a better- 
trained pack of dogs than his own ; and had broken away to 
hurry to the camp-ground, with the assurance that he ’d 
“ give him fits when the preachin' was over ; ” and now he 
stood there, tears rolling down his cheeks, singing with the 
heartiest earnestness and devotion. What shall we make 
of it ? Poor heathen Ben ! is it any more out of the way 
for him to think of being a Christian in this manner, than 
for some of his more decent brethren, who take Sunday 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


305 


passage for eternity in the cushioned New York or Boston 
pews, and solemnly drowse through very sleepy tunes, un- 
der a dim, hazy impression that they are going to heaven ? 
Of the two, we think Ben's chance is the best ; for, in some 
blind way, he does think himself a sinner, and in need of 
something he calls salvation ; and, doubtless, while the tears 
stream down his face, the poor fellow makes a new resolve 
against the whiskey-bottle, while his more respectable sleepy 
brethren never think of making one against the cotton-bale. 

Then there was his rival, also, Jim Stokes, — < 'a surly, foul- 
mouthed, swearing fellow, — he joins in the chorus of the 
hymn, and feels a troublous, vague yearning, deep down 
within him, which makes him for the moment doubt whether 
he had better knock down Ben at the end of the meeting. 

As to Harry, who stood also among the crowd, the words 
and tune recalled but too vividly the incidents of his morn- 
ing's interview with Bred, and with it the tumultuous boil- 
ing of his bitter controversy, with the laws of the society in 
which he found himself. In hours of such high excitement, 
a man seems to have an intuitive perception of the whole 
extent and strength of what is within himself ; and, if there 
be anything unnatural or false in his position, he realizes it 
with double intensity. 

Mr. John Gordon, likewise, gave himself up, without resist- 
ance, to be swayed by the feeling of the hour. He sung 
with enthusiasm, and wished he was a soldier of some- 
body, going somewhere, or a martyr shouting victory in 
the fire ; and if the conflict described had been with any 
other foe than his own laziness and self-indulgence — had 
there been any outward, tangible enemy, at the moment — 
he would doubtless have enlisted, without loss of time. 

When the hymn was finished, however, there was a gen- 
eral wiping of eyes, and they all sat down to listen to the 
sermon. Father Bonnie led off in an animated strain. His 
discourse was like the tropical swamp, bursting out with a 
lush abundance of every kind of growth — grave, gay, gro- 
tesque, solemn, fanciful, and even coarse caricature, pro- 


306 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


yoking the broadest laughter. The audience were swayed 
by him like trees before the wind. There were not wanting 
touches of rude pathos, as well as earnest appeals. The 
meeting was a union one of Presbyterians and Methodists, in 
which the ministers of both denominations took equal part ; 
and it was an understood agreement among them, of course, 
that they were not to venture upon polemic ground, or attack 
each other’s peculiarities of doctrine. But Abijah’s favorite 
preacher could not get through a sermon without some quite 
pointed exposition of scripture bearing on his favorite doc- 
trine of election, which caused the next minister to run a 
vehement tilt on the correlative doctrines of free grace, 
with a eulogy on John Wesley. The auditors, meanwhile, 
according to their respective sentiments, encouraged each 
preacher with a cry of “ Amen ! ” “ Glory be to God ! ” 
“ Go on, brother ! ” and other similar exclamations. 

About noon the services terminated, pro tem., and the 
audience dispersed themselves to their respective tents 
through the grove, where there was an abundance of chat- 
ting, visiting, eating, and drinking, as if the vehement de- 
nunciations and passionate appeals of the morning had been 
things of another state of existence. Uncle John, in the 
most cheery possible frame of mind, escorted his party into 
the woods, and assisted them in unpacking a hamper con- 
taining wine, cold fowls, cakes, pies, and other delicacies 
which Aunt Katy had packed for the occasion. 

Old Tiff had set up his tent in a snug little nook on the 
banks of the stream, where he informed passers by that it 
was his young mas’r and missis’s establishment, and that he, 
Tiff, had come to wait on them. With a good-natured view 
of doing him a pleasure, Nina selected a spot for their 
nooning at no great distance, and spoke in the most gra- 
cious and encouraging manner to them, from time to time. 

“ See, now, can’t you, how real quality behaves dem- 
selves ! ” he said, grimly, to Old Hundred, who came up 
bringing the carriage-cushions for the party to sit down 
upon. “ Real quality sees into things ! I tell ye what, 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 307 

blood sees into blood. Miss Nina sees dese yer chil’en an’t 
de common sort — dat ’s what she does ! ” 

“ Umph ! ” said Old Hundred, “ such a muss as ye keep 
up about yer chil’en ! Tell you what, dey an’t no better 
dan oder white trash ! ” 

“ Now, you talk dat ar way, I ’ll knock you down ! ” said 
Old Tiff, who, though a peaceable and law-abiding creature, 
in general, was driven, in desperation, to the last resort of 
force. 

“John, what are you saying to Tiff?” said Nina, who 
had overheard some of the last words. “ Go back to your 
own tent, and don’t you trouble him ! I have taken him 
under my protection.’ 7 

The party enjoyed their dinner with infinite relish, and 
Nina amused herself in watching Tiff’s cooking prepara- 
tions. Before departing to the preaching-ground, he had 
arranged a slow fire, on which a savory stew had been all 
the morning simmering, and which, on the taking off of the 
pot-lid, diffused an agreeable odor through the place. 

“ I say, Tiff, how delightfully that smells ! ” said Nina, 
getting up, and looking into the pot. “Wouldn’t Miss 
Fanny be so kind as to favor us with a taste of it ? ” 

Fanny, to whom Tiff punctiliously referred the question, 
gave a bashful consent. But who shall describe the pride 
and glory that swelled the heart of Tiff as he saw a bowl 
of his stew smoking among the Gordon viands, praised and 
patronized by the party ? And, when Nina placed on their 
simple board — literally a board, and nothing more — a 
small loaf of frosted cake, in exchange, it certainly required 
all the grace of the morning exercises to keep Tiff within 
due bounds of humility. He really seemed to dilate with 
satisfaction. 

“ Tiff, how did you like the sermon ? ” said Nina. 

“Bey’s pretty far, Miss Nina. Der’s a good deal o’ 
quality preaching.” 

“ What do you mean by quality preaching, Tiff ? ” 

“ Why, dat ar kind dat ’s good for quality — full of long 


308 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


words, you know. I spects it ’s very good ; but poor nig- 
ger like me can’t see his way through it. You see, Miss 
Nina, what I ’s studdin’ on, lately, is, how to get dese yer 
chil’en to Canaan ; and I hars fus with one ear, and den with 
t’ oder, but ’pears like an’t clar ’bout it, yet. Dere ’s a heap 
about mose everything else, and it ’s all very good ; but 
’pears like I an’t clar, arter all, about dat ar. Dey says, 
* Come to Christ ; ’ and I says, 1 Whar is he, any how ? ’ Bress 
you, I want to come ! Dey talks ’bout going in de gate, 
and knocking at de do’, and ’bout marching on de road, and 
’bout fighting and being soldiers of de cross ; and de Lord 
knows, now, I ’d be glad to get de chil’en through any gate ; 
and I could take ’em on my back and travel all day, if dere 
was any road ; and if dere was a do’, bless me, if dey 
would n’t hear Old Tiff a rapping ! I spects de Lord would 
have fur to open it — would so. But, arter all, when de 
preaching is done, dere don’t ’pear to be nothing to it. 
Dere an’t no gate, dere an’t no do’, nor no way ; and dere 
an’t no fighting, ’cept when Ben Dakin and Jim Stokes get 
jawing about der dogs ; and everybody comes back eating 
der dinner quite comf ’table, and ’pears like dere wan’t no 
such ting dey ’s been preaching ’bout. Dat ar troubles me 
— does so — ’cause I wants fur to get dese yer chil’en in 
de kingdom, some way or oder. I did n’t know but some 
of de quality would know more ’bout it.” 

“ Hang me, if— I have n’t felt just so ! ” said Uncle John. 
“ When they were singing that hymn about enlisting and 
being a soldier, if there had been any fighting doing any- 
where, I should have certainly gone right into it ; and the 
preaching always stirs me up terribly. But, then, as Tiff 
says, after it ’s all over, why, there ’s dinner to be eaten, 
and I can’t see anything better than to eat it ; and then, 
by the time I have drank two or three glasses of wine, it ’s 
all gone. Now, that ’s just the way with me ! ” 

“ Dey says,” said Tiff, “ dat we must wait for de blessing 
to come down upon us, and Aunt Rose says it ’s dem dat 
shouts dat gets de blessing ; and I ’s been shouting till I ’s 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


309 


most beat out, but I has n’t got it. Den, one of dem said 
none of dem could get it but de ’lect ; but, den, t’ oder one, he 
seemed to tink different ; and in de meeting dey tells about 
de scales falling from der eyes, — and I wished dey fall from 
mine — I do so ! Perhaps, Miss Nina, now, you could tell 
me someting.” 

u 0, don’t ask me ! ” said Nina ; “ I don’t know anything 
about these things. I think I feel a little like Uncle John,” 
she said, turning to Clayton. “ There are two kinds of 
sermons and hymns ; one gets me to sleep, and the other 
excites and stirs me up in a general kind of way ; but they 
don’t either seem to do me real good.” 

“ For my part, I am such an enemy to stagnation,” said 
Clayton, “ that I think there is advantage in everything 
that stirs up the soul, even though we see no immediate 
results. I listen to music, see pictures, as far as I can, 
uncritically. I say, ' Here I am ; see what you can do with 
me.’ So I present myself to almost all religious exercises. 
It is the most mysterious part of our nature. I do not pre- 
tend to understand it, therefore never criticize.” 

“ For my part,” said Anne, “ there is so much in the 
wild freedom of these meetings that shocks my taste and 
sense of propriety, that I am annoyed more than I am ben- 
efited.’ 

“ There spoke the true, well-trained conventionalist,” said 
Clayton. “ But look around you. See, in this wood, 
among these flowers, and festoons of vine, and arches of 
green, how many shocking, unsightly growths ! You would 
not have had all this underbrush, these dead limbs, these 
briers running riot over trees, and sometimes choking and 
killing them. You would have well-trimmed trees and vel- 
vet turf. But I love briers, dead limbs, and all, for their 
very savage freedom. Every once in a while you see in a 
wood a jessamine, or a sweet-brier, or grape-vine, that 
throws itself into a gracefulness of growth which a landscape 
gardener would go down on his knees for, but cannot get. 
Nature resolutely denies it to him. She says, ‘ No ! I keep 


310 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


this for my own. You won’t have* my wildness — my free- 
dom ; very well, then you shall not have the graces that 
spring from it.’ Just so it is with men. Unite any assem- 
bly of common men in a great enthusiasm, — work them up 
into an abandon, and let every one * let go,’ and speak as 
nature prompts, — and you will have brush, underwood, 
briers, and all grotesque growths ; but, now and then, some 
thought or sentiment will be struck out with a freedom or 
power such as you cannot get in any other way. You cul- 
tivated people are much mistaken when you despise the 
enthusiasms of the masses. There is more truth than you 
think in the old ‘ vox populi, vox Dei.’ ” 

“ What ’s that ? ” said Nina. 

“ 1 The voice of the people is the voice of God.’ There 
is truth in it. I never repent my share in a popular excite- 
ment, provided it be of the higher sentiments ; and I do not 
ask too strictly whether it has produced any tangible results. 
I reverence the people, as I do the woods, for the wild, 
grand freedom with which their humanity develops itself.” 

“I’m afraid, Nina,” said Aunt Nesbit, in a low tone, to 
the latter, “ I ’m afraid he isn’t orthodox.” 

“ What makes you think so, aunt ? ” 

“ 0, I don’t know ; his talk has n’t the real sound.” 

“ You want something that ends in 1 ation,’ don’t you, 
aunt ? — justification, sanctification, or something of that 
kind.” 

* * * * * * * 
Meanwhile, the department of Abijah Skinflint exhibited 
a decided activity. This was a long, low booth, made of 
poles, and roofed with newly-cut green boughs. Here the 
whiskey-barrel was continually pouring forth its supplies to 
customers who crowded around it. Abijah sat on the mid- 
dle of a sort of rude counter, dangling his legs, and chew- 
ing a straw, while his negro was busy in helping his various 
customers. Abijah, as we said, being a particularly high 
Calvinist, was recreating himself by carrying on a discus- 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


311 


sion with a fat, little, turnipy brother, of the Methodist per- 
suasion. 

“ I say,” he said, “ Stringfellow put it into you Metho- 
dists, this morning ! Hit the nail on the head, I thought I ” 

“ Not a bit of it!” said the other, contemptuously. 
“ Why, elder Baskum chawed him up completely ! There 
wan’t nothin’ left of him ! ” 

“ Well,” said Abijah, “ strange how folks will see things! 
Why, it ’s just as clar to me that all things is decreed ! 
Why, that ar nails everything up tight and handsome. It 
gives a fellow a kind of comfort to think on it. Things is 
just as they have got to be. All this free-grace stuff is 
drefful loose talk. If things is been decreed ’fore the world 
was made, well, there seems to be some sense in their com- 
ing to pass. But, if everything kind of turns up when- 
ever folks think on ’t, it ’s a kind of shaky business.” 

•• I don’t like this tying up things so tight,” said the 
other, who evidently was one of the free, jovial order. “ I 
go in for the freedom of the will. Free Gospel, and free 
grace.” 

“ For my part,” said Abijah, rather grimly, “ if things 
was managed my way, I should n’t commune with nobody 
that did n’t believe in election, up to the hub.” 

“You strong electioners think you ’s among the elect! ” 
said one of the bystanders. “You wouldn’t be so crank 
about it, if you did n’t ! Now, see here : if everything is 
decreed, how am I going to help myself? ” 

“ That ar is none of my look-out,” said Abijah. “ But 
there ’s a pint my mind rests upon — everything is fixed as 
it can be, and it makes a man mighty easy.” 

* * * * * 

In another part of the camp-ground, Ben Dakin was sit- 
ing in his tent door, caressing one of his favorite dogs, and 
partaking his noontide repast with his wife and child. 

“ I declar,” said Ben, wiping his mouth, “ wife, I intend 
to go into it, and sarve the Lord, now, full chisel ! If I 
catch the next lot of niggers, I intend to give half the 


812 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


1 


money towards keeping up preaching somewhere round 
here. I ’m going to enlist, now, and be a soldier.” 

“And,” said his wife, “ Ben, just keep clear of Abijah 
Skinflint’s counter, won’t you ? ” 

“ Well, I will, durned if I won’t ! ” said Ben. “ I ’ll be 
moderate. A fellow wants a glass or two, to strike up the 
hymn on, you know ; but I ’ll be moderate.” 

The Georgia trader, who had encamped in the neighbor- 
hood, now came up. 

“ Do you believe, stranger,” said he, “ one of them 
durned niggers of mine broke loose and got in the swamps, 
while I was at meeting this morning ! Could n’t you take 
your dog, here, and give ’em a run ? I just gave nine hun- 
dred dollars for that fellow, cash down.” 

“ Ho 1 what you going to him for ? ” said Jim Stokes, a 
short, pursy, vulgar-looking individual, dressed in a hunt- 
ing-shirt of blue Kentucky jean, who just then came up. 
“ Why, durn ye, his dogs an’t no breed ’t all ! Mine ’s the 
true grit, I can tell you ; they ’s the true Florida blood-hounds ! 
I ’s seen one of them ar dogs shake a nigger in his mouth 
like he ’d been a sponge.” 

Poor Ben’s new-found religion could not withstand this 
sudden attack of his spiritual enemy ; and, rousing himself, 
notwithstanding the appealing glances of his wife, he 
stripped up his sleeves, and, squaring off, challenged his 
rival to a fight. 

A crowd gathered round, laughing and betting, and 
cheering on the combatants with slang oaths and expres- 
sions, such as we will not repeat, when the concourse was 
routed by the approach of father Bonnie on the outside of 
the ring. 

“ Look here, boys, what works of the devil have you got 
round here ? None of this on the camp-ground ! This is the 
Lord’s ground, here ; so shut up your swearing, and don’t 
fight.” 

A confused murmur of voices now began to explain to 
father Bonnie the cause of the trouble. 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


313 


iJ Ho, ho ! ” said he, "let the nigger run ; you can catch 
him fast enough when the meetings are over. You come 
here to ’tend to your salvation. Ah, don’t you be swearing 
and blustering round ! Come, boys, join in a hymn with 
me.” So saying, he struck up a well-known air : 

“ When Israel went to Jericho, 

0, good Lord, in my soul ! ” 

in which one after another joined, and the rising tumult 
was soon assuaged. 

" I say,” said father Bonnie to the trader, in an under 
tone, as he was walking away, " you got a good cook in 
your lot, hey ? 

" Got a prime one,” said the trader ; "an A number 
one cook, and no mistake I Picked her up real cheap, and 
I ’ll let you have her for eight hundred dollars, being as you 
are a minister.” 

"You must think the Gospel a better trade than it is,” 
said father Bonnie, "if you think a minister can afford to 
pay at that figure ! ” 

" Why,” said the trader, " you have n’t seen her ; it ’s 
dirt cheap for her, I can tell you ! A sound, strong, hearty 
woman ; a prudent, careful housekeeper ; a real pious Meth- 
odist, a member of a class-meeting ! Why, eight hundred 
dollars an’t anything ! I ought to get a thousand for her ; 
but I don’t hear preaching for nothing, — always think right 
to make a discount to ministers I ” 

" Why could n’t you bring her in ? ” said father Bonnie. 
" Maybe I ’ll give you seven hundred and fifty for her.” 

" Could n’t do that, no way ! ” said the trader. " Could n’t, 
fcideed ! ” 

" Well, after the meetings are over I ’ll talk about it.” 

" She ’s got a child, four years old,” said the trader, with 
a little cough ; " healthy, likely child ; I suppose I shall 
want a hundred dollars for him ! ” 

" 0, that won’t do ! ” said father Bonnie. " I don’t want 
any more children round my place than I ’ve got now ! ” 

27 


314 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


“ But, I tell you,” said the trader, “ it ’s a likely boy. 
Why, the keeping of him won’t cost you anything, and be- 
fore you think of it you ’ll have a thousand-dollar hand 
grown on your own place.” 

“ Well,” said father Bonnie, “ I ’ll think of it ! ” 

In the evening the scene on the camp-ground was still 
more picturesque and impressive. Those who conduct 
camp-meetings are generally men who, without much rea- 
soning upon the subject, fall into a sort of tact, in influencing 
masses of mind, and pressing into the service all the great 
life forces and influences of nature. A kind of rude poetry 
pervades their minds, colors their dialect, and influences 
their arrangements. The solemn and harmonious grandeur 
of night, with all its mysterious power of exalting the pas- 
sions and intensifying the emotions, has ever been appre- 
ciated, and used by them with even poetic skill. The day 
had been a glorious one in June ; the sky of that firm, clear 
blue, the atmosphere of that crystalline clearness, which 
often gives to the American landscape such a sharply- 
defined outline, and to the human system such an intense 
consciousness of life. The evening sun went down in a 
broad sea of light, and even after it had sunk below the 
purple horizon, flashed back a flood of tremulous rose-col- 
ored radiance, which, taken up by a thousand filmy clouds, 
made the whole sky above like a glowing tent of the most 
ethefe^J brightness. The shadows of the forest aisles were 
pierced by the rose-colored rays ; and, as they gradually 
faded, star after star twinkled out, and a broad moon, 
ample and round, rose in the purple zone of the sky. When 
she had risen above the horizon but a short space, her light 
was so resplendent, and so profuse, that it was decided to 
conduct the evening service by that alone ; and when, at 
the sound of the hymn, the assembly poured :n and arranged 
themselves before the preaching-stand, it is probable that 
the rudest heart present was somewhat impressed with the 
silent magnificence by which God was speaking to them 
through his works. As the hymn closed, father Bonnie, 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


315 


advancing to the front of the stage, lifted his hands, and 
pointing to the purple sky, and in a deep and not unmelo- 
dious voice, repeated the words of the Psalmist : 

“ The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firma- 
ment showeth his handy-work ; day unto day uttereth 
speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. '' 

11 0, ye sinners ! '' he exclaimed, “ look up at the moon, 
there, walking in her brightness, and think over your oaths, 
and your cursings, and your drinkings ! Think over your 
backbitings, and your cheatings ! think over your quarrel- 
lings and your fightings ! How do they look to you now, 
with that blessed moon shining down upon you ? Don't 
you see the beauty of our Lord God upon her ? Don't you 
see how the saints walk in white with the Lord, like her ? 
I dare say some of you, now, have had a pious mother, or a 
pious wife, or a pious sister, that 's gone to glory ; and there 
they are walking with the Lord ! — walking with the Lord, 
through the sky, and locking down on you, sinners, just as 
that moon looks down ! And what does she see you doing, 
your wife, or your mother, or sister, that 's in glory ? Does 
she see all your swearings, and your drinkings, and your 
fightings, and your hankerings after money, and your horse- 
racings, and your cock-fightings ? 0, sinners, but you are 

a bad set ! I tell you the Lord is looking now down on 
you, out of that moon ! He is looking down in mercy ! 
But, I tell you, he '11 look down quite another way, one of 
these days ! 0, there '11 be a time of wrath, by and by, if 

you don't repent ! 0, what a time there was at Sinai, 

years ago, when the voice of the trumpet waxed louder 
and louder, and the mountain was all of a smoke, and there 
were thunderings and lightnings, and the Lord descended 
on Sinai ! That 's nothing to what you 'll see, by and by ! 
No more moon looking down on you ! No more stars, 
but the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the 
elements shall melt with fervent heat ! Ah ! did you ever 
see a fire in the woods ? I have ; and I *ve seen the fire on 
the prairies, and it rolled like a tempest, and men and horses, 


316 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


and everything, had to run before it. I have seen it roar- 
ing and crackling through the woods, and great trees shriv- 
elled in a minute like tinder ! I have seen it flash over trees 
seventy-five and a hundred feet high, and in a minute they ’d 
be standing pillars of fire, and the heavens were all a blaze, 
and the crackling and roaring was like the sea in a storm. 
There ’s a judgment-day for you ! 0, sinner, what will 

become of you in that day ? Never cry, Lord, Lord I Too 
late — too late, man ! You wouldn’t take mercy when it 
was offered, and now you shall have wrath ! No place to 
hide ! The heavens and earth are passing away, and there 
shall be no more sea ! There ’s no place for you now in 
God’s universe.” 

By this time there were tumultuous responses from the 
audience, of groans, cries, clapping of hands, and mingled 
shouts of glory and amen 1 

The electric shout of the multitude acted on the preacher 
again, as he went on, with a yet fiercer energy. “ Now is 
your time, sinners ! Now is your time ! Come unto the 
altar, and God’s people will pray for you ! Now is the day 
of grace ! Come up ! Come up, you that have got pious 
fathers and mothers in glory ! Come up, father ! come up, 
mother ! come up, brother ! Come, young man 1 we want you 
to come ! Ah, there ’s a hardened sinner, off there I I see 
his lofty looks 1 Come up, come up ! Come up, you rich 
sinners I You ’ll be poor enough in the day of the Lord, I 
can tell you ! Come up, you young women ! You daugh- 
ters of Jerusalem, with your tinkling ornaments ! Come, 
saints of the Lord, and labor with me in prayer. Strike up 
a hymn, brethren, strike up the hymn I ” And a thousand 
voices commenced the hymn, 

“ Stop, poor sinner, stop and think, 

Before you further go ! ” 

And, meanwhile, ministers and elders moved around the 
throng, entreating and urging one and another to come and 
kneel before the stand. Multitudes rushed forward, groans 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 317 

and sobs were heard, as the speaker continued, with 
redoubled vehemence. 

“ I don’t care,” said Mr. John Gordon, “ who sees me ; 
I ’m going up I I am a poor old sinner, and I ought to be 
prayed for, if anybody.” 

Nina shrank back, and clung to Clayton’s arm. So vehe- 
ment was the surging feeling of the throng around her, that 
she wept with a wild, tremulous excitement. 

“ Do take me out, — it ’s dreadful ! ” she said. 

Clayton passed his arm round her, and, opening a way 
through the crowd, carried her out beyond the limits, where 
they stood together alone, under the tree. 

“ I know I am not good as I ought to be,” she said, 
“ but I don’t know how to be any better. Do you think it 
would do me any good to go up there ? Do you believe in 
these things ? ” 

“ I sympathize with every effort that man makes to ap- 
proach his Maker,” said Clayton ; “ the.?e ways do not suit 
me, but I dare not judge them. I cannot despise them. I 
must not make myself a rule for others.” 

“ But, don’t you think,” said Nina, “ that these things 
do harm sometimes ? ” 

“ Alas, child, what form of religion does not? It is“our 
fatality that everything that does good must do harm. It ’s 
the condition of our poor, imperfect life here.” 

“ I do not like these terrible threats,” said Nina. “ Can 
fear of fire make me love ? Besides, I have a kind of 
courage in me that always rises up against a threat. It 
is n’t my nature to fear.” 

“If we may judge our Father by his voice in nature,” 
said Clayton, “ he deems severity a necessary part of our 
training. How inflexibly and terribly regular are all his 
laws ! Fire and hail, snow and vapor, stormy wind, fulfil- 
ling his word — all these have a crushing regularity in their 
movements, which sho v that he is to be feared as well as 
loved.” 

“ But I want to be religious,” said Nina, “entirely apart 

27 * 


318 


THE CAMP-HEETING. 


from such considerations. Not driven by fear, but drawn 
by love. You can guide me about these things, for you 
are religious.” 

“ I fear I should not be accepted as such in any church,” 
said Clayton. “ It is my misfortune that I cannot receive 
any common form of faith, though I res}, ect and sympathize 
with all. Generally speaking, preaching only weakens my 
faith ; and I have to forget the sermon in order to recover 
my faith. I do not believe — I know that our moral nature 
needs a thorough regeneration ; and I believe this must 
come through Christ. This is air I am certain of.” 

“ I wish I were like Milly,” said Nina. “ She is a Chris- 
tian, I know ; but she has come to it by dreadful sorrows. 
Sometimes I ’m afraid to ask my heavenly Father to make 
me good, because I think it will come by dreadful trials, if 
he does.” 

** And I,” said Clayton, speaking with great earnestness, 
“ would be willing to suffer anything conceivable, if I could 
only overcome all evil, and come up to my highest ideas of 
good.” And, as he spoke, he turned his face up to the 
moonlight with an earnest fervor of expression, that struck 
Nina deeply. 

“ I almost shudder to hear you say so ! You don’t know 
what it may bring on ypu ! ” 

He looked at her with a beautiful smile, which was a 
peculiar expression of his face in moments of high excite- 
ment. 

u I say it again ! ” he said. “ Whatever it involves, let 
it come ! ” 

* * * * * * * 

The exercises of the evening went on with a succession 
of addresses, varied by singing of hymns and prayers. In 
the latter part of the time many declared themselves con- 
verts, and were shouting loudly. Father Bonnie came for- 
ward. 

“ Brethren,” he shouted, " we are seeing a day from the 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


319 


Lord ! We 've got a glorious time ! 0, brethren, let us 

sing glory to the Lord ! The Lord is coming among us ! ,; 

The excitement now became general. There was a con- 
fused sound of exhortation, prayers, and hymns, all mixed 
together, from different parts of the ground. But, all of a 
sudden, every one was startled by a sound which seemed to 
come pealing down directly from the thick canopy of pines 
over the heads of the ministers. 

“ Woe unto you that desire the day of tlje Lord ! To 
what end shall it be for you ? The day of the Lord shall be 
darkness, and not light I Blow ye the trumpet in Zion ! 
Sound an alarm in my holy mountain ! Let all the in 
habitants of the land tremble ! for the day of the Lord 
cometh 1 ” 

There was deep, sonorous power in the voice that spoke, 
and the words fell pealing down through the air like the 
vibrations of some mighty bell. Men looked confusedly on 
each other ; but, in the universal license of the hour, the 
obscurity of the night, and the multitude of the speakers, 
no one knew exactly whence it came. After a moment’s 
pause, the singers were recommencing, when again the same 
deep voice was heard. 

“ Take away from me the noise of thy songs, and the mel- 
ody of thy viols ; for I will not hear them, saith the Lord. I 
hate and despise your feast-days 1 I will not smell in your 
solemn assemblies ; for your hands are defiled with blood, 
and your fingers are greedy for violence ! Will ye kill, and 
steal, and commit adultery, and swear falsely, and come and 
stand before me, saith the Lord ? Ye oppress the poor and 
needy, and hunt the stranger ; also in thy skirts is found 
the blood of poor innocents ! and yet ye say, Because I am 
clean shall his anger pass from me ! Hear this, ye that 
swallow up the needy, and make the poor of the land to 
fail, saying, When will the new moon be gone, that we may 
sell corn ? that we may buy the poor for silver, and the 
needy for a pair of shoes ? The Lord hath sworn, saying, 

I will never forget their works. I will surely visit you 1 ” 


320 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


The audience, thus taken, in the obscurity of the evening, 
by an unknown speaker, whose words seemed to fall appar- 
ently from the clouds, in a voice of such strange and sin- 
gular quality, began to feel a creeping awe stealing over 
them. The high state of electrical excitement under which 
they had been going on, predisposed them to a sort of re- 
vulsion of terror ; and a vague, mysterious panic crept upon 
them, as the boding, mournful voice continued to peal from 
the trees. 

“ Hear, 0 ye rebellious people ! The Lord is against this 
nation ! The Lord shall stretch out upon it the line of con- 
fusion, and the stones of emptiness ! For thou saidst, I will 
ascend into the stars ; I will be as God ! But thou shalt be 
cast out as an abominable branch, and the wild beasts shall 
tread thee down ! Howl, fir-tree, for thou art spoiled ! Open 
thy doors, 0 Lebanon, that the fire may devour thy cedars ! 
for the Lord cometh out of his place to punish the inhab- 
itants of the land I The Lord shall utter his voice before 
his army, for his camp is very great ! Multitudes ! multi- 
tudes ! in the valley of decision ! For the day of the Lord 
is near in the valley of decision ! The sun and the moon 
shall be dark, and the stars withdraw their shining ; for the 
Lord shall utter his voice from Jerusalem, and the heavens 
and earth shall shake ! In that day I will cause the sun to 
go down at noon, and darken the whole earth ! And I will 
turn your feasts into mourning, and your songs into lament- 
ation ! Woe to the bloody city ! It is full of lies and robbery ! 
The noise of a whip ! — the noise of the rattling of wheels I 
— of the prancing horses, and the jumping chariot ! The 
horseman lifteth up the sword and glittering spear ! and 
there is a multitude of slain ! There is no end of their 
corpses ! — They are stumbling upon the corpses ! For, 
Behold, I am against thee, saith the Lord, and I will make 
thee utterly desolate ! ” 

There was a fierce, wailing earnestness in the sound of 
these dreadful words, as if they were uttered in a paroxysm 
of affright and horror, by one who stood face to face with 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


321 


some tremendous form. And, when the sound ceased, men 
drew in their breath, and looked on each other, and the 
crowd began slowly to disperse, whispering in low voices 
to each other. 

So extremely piercing and so wildly earnest had the 
voice been, that it actually seemed, in the expressive words 
of Scripture, to make every ear to tingle. And, as people 
of rude and primitive habits are always predisposed to 
superstition there crept through the different groups wild 
legends of prophets strangely commissioned to announce 
coming misfortunes. Some spoke of the predictions of the 
judgment-day ; some talked of comets, and strange signs 
that had preceded wars and pestilences. The ministers 
wondered, and searched around the stand in vain. One 
auditor alone could, had he desired it, make an explanation. 
Harry, who stood near the stand, had recognized the voice. 
But, though he searched, also, around, he could find no one. 

He who spoke was one whose savage familiarity with 
nature gave him the agility and stealthy adroitness of a 
wild animal. And, during the stir and commotion of the 
dispersing audience, he had silently made his way from tree 
to tree, over the very heads of those who were yet wonder- 
ing at his strange, boding words, till at last he descended in 
a distant part of the forest. 

After the service, as father Dickson was preparing to re- 
tire to his tent, a man pulled him by the sleeve. It was the 
Georgia trader. 

“We have had an awful time, to-night ! ” said he, looking 
actually pale with terror. “ Do you think the judgment-day 
really is coming ? ” 

“ My friend , ” said father Dickson, “it surely is ! Every 
step we take in life is leading us directly to the judgment- 
seat of Christ ! ” 

“ Well/' said the trader, “ but do you think that was 
from the Lord, the last one that spoke ? Durned if he 
did n’t say awful things I — ’nough to make the hair rise ! 
I tell you what, I ’ve often had doubts about my trade. 


322 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


The ministers may prove it 's all right out of the Old Tes- 
tament ; but I 'in durned if I think they know all the things 
that we do ! But, then, I an't so bad as some of 'em. 
But, now, I 've got a gal out in my gang that 's dreadful 
sick, and I partly promised her I 'd bring a minister to see 
her.” 

“I'll go with you, friend,” said father Dickson; and 
forthwith he began following the trader to the racks where 
their horses were tied. Selecting, out of some hundred 
who were tied there, their own beasts, the two midnight 
travellers soon found themselves trotting along under the 
shadow of the forest's boughs. 

“ My friend,” said father Dickson, “ I feel bound in con- 
science to tell you that I think your trade a ruinous one to 
your soul. I hope you 'll lay to heart the solemn warning 
you 've heard to-night. Why, your own sense can show 
you that a trade can't be right that you 'd be afraid to be 
found in if the great judgment-day were at hand.” 

“ Well, I rather spect you speak the truth ; but, then, 
what makes father Bonnie stand up for 't ? ” 

“ My friend, I must say that I think father Bonnie up- 
holds a soul-destroying error. I must say that, as con- 
science-bound. I pray the Lord for him and you both. I put 
it right to your conscience, my friend, whether you think 
you could keep to your trade, and live a Christian life.” 

“ No ; the fact is, it 's a d d bad business, that 's just 

where 't is. We an't fit to be trusted with such things that 
come to us — gals and women. Well, I feel pretty bad, I 
tell you, to-night ; 'cause I know I have n't done right by 
this yer gal. I ought fur to have let her alone ; but, then, 
the devil or something possessed me. And now she has got 
a fever, and screeches awfully. I declar, some things she 
says go right through me ! ” 

Father Dickson groaned in spirit over this account, and 
felt himself almost guilty for belonging ostensibly and out- 
wardly to a church which tolerated such evils. He rode 
along by the side of his companion, breaking forth into occa- 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


323 


sional ejaculations and snatches of hymns. After a ride of 
about an hour, they arrived at the encampment. A large 
fire had been made in a cleared spot, and smouldering frag- 
ments and brands were lying among the white ashes. One 
or two horses were tied to a neighboring tree, and wagons 
were drawn up by them. Around the fire, in different groups, 
lay about fifteen men and women, with heavy iron shackles 
on their feet, asleep in the moonlight. At a little distance 
from the group, and near to one of the wagons, a blanket 
was spread down on the ground under a tree, on which lay a 
young girl of seventeen, tossing and moaning in a disturbed 
stupor. A respectable-looking mulatto-woman was sitting 
beside her, with a gourd full of water, with which from time 
to time she moistened her forehead. The woman rose as 
the trader came up. 

“ Well, Nance, how does she do now ? ” said the trader. 

“ Mis'able enough ! ” said Nance. “ She done been toss- 
ing, a throwing round, and crying for her mammy, ever 
since you went away ! ” 

“ Well, I Ve brought the minister, ” said he. 11 Try, 
Nance, to wake her up ; she *11 be glad to see him.” 

The woman knelt down, and took the hand of the sleeper. 
“ Emily ! Emily 1 ” she said, “ wake up ! ” 

The girl threw herself over with a sudden, restless toss. 
** 0, how my head burns! — 0, dear! — 0, my mother! 
Mother ! — mother ! — mother ! — why don't you come to 
me ? ” 

Father Dickson approached and knelt the other side of 
her. The mulatto-woman made another effort to bring her 
to consciousness. 

“ Emily here 's the minister you was wanting so much ! 
Emily, wake up ! ” 

The girl slowly opened her eyes — large, tremulous, dark 
eyes. She drew her hand across them, as if to clear her 
sight, and looked wistfully at the woman. 

“ Minister ! — minister ! ” she said. 

“ Yes, minister ! You said you wanted to see one.” 


324 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


“ 0, yes, I did ! ” she said, heavily. 

“My daughter!” said. father Dickson, “you are very 
sick ! ” 

“ Yes ! ” she said, “ very ! x\nd I ’m glad of it ! I ’m 
going to die ! — I ’m glad of that, too I That ’s all I ’ve got 
left to be glad of! But I wanted to ask you to write to my 
mother. She is a free woman ; she lives in New York. I 
want you to give my love to her, and tell her not to worry 
any more. Tell her I tried all I could to get to her ; but 
they took us, and mistress was so angry she sold me ! I 
forgive her, too. I don’t bear her any malice, ’cause it ’s 
all over, now ! She used to say I was a wild girl, and 
laughed too loud. I shan’t trouble any one that way any 
more ! So that ’s no matter ! ” 

The girl spoke these sentences at long intervals, occa- 
sionally opening her eyes and closing them again in a 
languid manner. Father Dickson, however, who had some 
knowledge of medicine, placed his finger on her pulse, 
which was rapidly sinking. It is the usual instinct, in all 
such cases, to think of means of prolonging life. Father 
Dickson rose, and said to the trader : 

“ Unless some stimulus be given her, she will be gone 
very soon ! ” 

The trader produced from his pocket a flask of brandy, 
which he mixed with a little water in a cup, and placed it 
in father Dickson’s hand. He kneeled down again, and, 
calling her by name, tried to make her take some. 

“What is it?” said she, opening her wild, glittering 
eyes. 

“It’s something to make you feel better.” 

“ I don’t want to feel better ! I want to die ! ” she said, 
throwing herself over. “ What should I want to live for? ” 

What should she ? The words struck father Dickson so 
much that he sat for a while in silence. He meditated jn 
his mind how he could reach, with any words, that dying 
ear, or enter with her into that land of trance and mist, 
into whose cloudy circle the soul seemed already to have 


325 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 

passed. Guided by a subtle instinct, he seated himself by 
the dying girl, and began singing, in a subdued, plaintive 
air, the following well-known hymn : 

“ Hark, my soul ! it is the Lord, 

’T is thy Saviour, hear his word ; 

J esus speaks — he speaks to thee ! 

Say, poor sinner, lov’st thou me ? ” 


The melody is one often sung among the negroes ; and 
one which, from its tenderness and pathos, is a favorite 
among them. As oil will find its way into crevices where 
water cannot penetrate, so song will find its way where 
speech can no longer enter. The moon shone full on the 
face of the dying girl, only interrupted by flickering shadows 
of leaves ; and, as father Dickson sung, he fancied he saw 
a slight, tremulous movement of the face, as if the soul, so 
worn and weary, were upborne on the tender pinions of the 
song. He went on singing : 

“ Can a mother’s tender care 
Cease toward the child she bare ? 

Yes, she may forgetful be : 

Still will I remember thee.” 


By the light of the moon, he saw a tear steal from under 
the long lashes,, and course slowly down her cheek. Ho 
continued his song : 

“ Mine is an eternal love, 

Higher than the heights above, 

Deeper than the depths beneath, 

True and faithful — strong as death. 

“ Thou shalt see my glory soon, 

When the work of faith is done ; 

Partner of my throne shalt be ! 

Say, poor sinner, lov’st thou me ? ” 


0, love of Christ ! which no sin can. weary, which no 
lapse of time can change ; from which tribulation, persecu- 
28 % 


326 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


tion, and distress, cannot separate — all-redeeming, all-glori- 
fying, changing even death and despair to the gate of 
heaven ! Thou hast one more triumph here in the wilder- 
ness, in the slave-coffle, and thou comest to bind up the 
broken-hearted. 

As the song ceased, she opened her eyes. 

“ Mother used to sing that ! ” she said. 

“ And can you believe in it, daughter ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I see Him now ! He loves me ! Let 
me go ! ” 

There followed a few moments of those stragglings and 
shiverings which are the birth-pangs of another life, and 
Emily lay at rest. 

Father Dickson, kneeling by her side, poured out the ful- 
ness of his heart in an earnest prayer. Rising, he went up 
to the trader, and, taking his hand, said to him, 

“ My friend, this may be the turning-point with your soul 
for eternity. It has pleased the Lord to show you the evil 
of your ways ; and now my advice to you is, break off your 
sins at once, and do works meet for repentance. Take off 
the shackles of these poor creatures, and tell them they are 
at liberty to go.” 

“ Why, bless your soul, sir, this yer lot ’s worth ten 
thousand dollars ! ” said the trader, who was not prepared 
for so close a practical application. 

Do not be too sure, friend, that the trader is peculiar in 
this. The very same argument, though less frankly stated, 
holds in the bonds of Satan many extremely well-bred, re- 
fined, respectable men, who would gladly save their souls, 
if they could afford the luxury. 

“ My friend,” said father Dickson, using the words of a 
very close and uncompromising preacher of old, “what 
shall it profit a man if he should gain the whole world, and 
los£ his own soul ? ” 

“ I know that,” said the trader, doubtfully ; “but it ’s a 
very hard case, this. I ; 11 think abcut it, though. But 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


327 


there ’s father Bonnie wants to buy Nance. It would be a 
pity to disappoint him. But I ’ll think it over.” 

Father Dickson returned to the camp-ground between one 
and two o’clock at night, and, putting away his horse, took 
his way to the ministers’ tent. Here he found father Bonnie 
standing out in the moonlight. He had been asleep within 
the tent ; biit it is to be confessed that the interior of a 
crowded tent on a camp-ground is anything but favorable to 
repose. He therefore came out into the fresh air, and was 
there when father Dickson came back to enter the tent. 

“ Well, brother, where have you been so late ? ” said 
father Bonnie. 

“ I have been looking for a few sheep in the wilderness, 
whom everybody neglects,” said father Dickson. And then, 
in a tone tremulous from agitation, he related to him the 
scene he had just witnessed. 

“Do you see,” he said, “ brother, what iniquities you are 
countenancing ? Now, here, right next to our camp, a slave- 
coffle encamped! Men and women, guilty of no crime, 
driven in fetters through our land, shaming us in the sight 
of every Christian nation ! What horrible, abominable 
iniquities are these poor traders tempted to commit ! What 
perfect Ifcells are the great 'trading-houses, where men, 
women, and children, are made merchandise of, and where 
no light of the Gospel ever enters ! And, when this poor 
trader is convicted of sin, and wants to enter into the king- 
dom, you stand there to apologize for his sins ! Brother 
Bonnie, I much fear you are the stumbling-block over which 
souls will stumble into hell. I don’t think you believe your 
argument from the Old Testament, yourself. You must see 
that it has no kind of relation to such kind of slavery as we 
have in this country. There ’s an awful scripture which 
saith : ' He feedeth on ashes ; a deceived heart hath turned 
him aside, so that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is 
there not a lie in my right hand ? ’ ” 

The earnestness with which father Dickson spoke, com- 
bined with the reverence commonly entertained for his 


328 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


piety, gave great force to his words. The reader will not 
therefore wonder to hear that father Bonnie, impulsive and 
easily moved as he was, wept at the account, and was 
moved by the exhortation. Nor will he be surprised to learn 
• that, two weeks after, father Bonnie drove a brisk bargain 
with the same trader for three new hands. 

The trader had discovered that the judgment-day was not 
coming yet a while ; and father Bonnie satisfied himself that 
Noah, when he awoke from his wine, said, “ Cursed be Ca- 
naan.” 

* * * * * * * 

We have one scene more to draw before we dismiss the 
auditors of the camp-meeting. 

At a late hour the Gordon carriage was winding its way 
under the silent, checkered, woodland path. Harry, who 
came slowly on a horse behind, felt a hand laid on his bridle. 
With a sudden start, he stopped. 

“ 0, Dred, is it you ? How dared you — how could you 
be so imprudent ? How dared you come here, when you 
know you risk your life ? ” 

“ Life ! ” said the other, “ what is life ? ” He that loveth 
his life shall lose it. Besides, the Lord said unto me, Go I 
The Lord is with me as a mighty and terrible one ! Harry, 
did you mark those men ? Hunters of men, their hands 
red with the blood of the poor, all seeking unto the Lord ! 
Ministers who buy and sell us ! Is this a people prepared 
for the Lord ? I left a man dead in the swamps, whom their 
dogs have torn ! His wife is a widow — his children, or- 
phans I They eat and wipe their mouth, and say, 1 What 
have I done ? ’ The temple of the Lord, the temple of the 
Lord, are we J ” 

“ I know it,” said Harry, gloomily. 

** And you join yourself unto them ? ” 

“ Don’t speak to me any more about that I I won’t be- 
tray you, but I won4 consent to have blood shed. My 
mistress is my sister.” 

“ 0, yes, to be sure ! They read Scripture, don’t they ? 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 


329 


Cast out the children of the bond-woman I That 's Scrip- 
ture for them ! ” 

“Dred,” said Harry, “I love her better than I love my- 
self. I will fight for her to the last, but never against 
her, nor hers ! ” 

“ And you will serve Tom Gordon ? ” said Dred. 

“ Never I ” said Harry. 

Dred stood still a moment. Through an opening among 
the branches the moonbeams streamed down on hm wild, 
dark figure. Harry remarked his eye fixed before him on 
vacancy, the pupil swelling out in glassy fulness, with a 
fixed, somnambulic stare. After a moment, he spoke, in a 
hollow, altered voice, like that of a sleep-walker : 

“Then shall the silver cord be loosed, and the golden 
bowl be broken. Yes, cover up the grave — cover it up ! 
Now, hurry ! come to me, or he will take thy wife for a 
prey ! ” 

“ Dred, what do you mean ? ” said Harry. “ What ? s the 
matter ? ” He shook him by the shoulder. 

Dred rubbed his eyes, and stared on Harry. 

“ I must go back,” he said, “ to my den. * Foxes have 
holes, the birds of the air have nests/ and in the habitation 
of dragons the Lord hath opened a way for his outcasts 1 ” 

He plunged into the thickets, and was gone. 

28 * 


* 







NINA GORDON: 

A 


TALE OF THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP. 


BY 

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, 

AUTHOR OF “UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.” 


“ Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, — 

His path was ragged and sore, 

Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, 
And man never trod before. 

And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep, 

If slumber his eyelids knew, 

He lay where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its venomous tears, that nightly steep 
The flesh with blistering dew.” 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 

VOL. II. 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 

1866 . 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


CONTENTS 

OF VOLUME II. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGB 

LIFE IN THE SWAMPS, 6 

CHAPTER II. 

MORE SUMMER TALK, 13 

CHAPTER III. 

MILLY’S RETURN, 29 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE TRIAL, 86 

CHAPTER V. 

MAGNOLIA GROVE, 46 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE TROUBADOUR, 63 

CHAPTER VII. 

TIFF’S GARDEN, 77 

CHAPTER VIII. 

TIIE WARNING, 87 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE MORNING STAR, 92 

CHAPTER X. 

THE LEGAL DECISION » 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XL 

PiOB 

THE CLOUD BURSTS 1U 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 124 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE EVENING STAR, 129 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE TIE BREAKS, 188 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE PURPOSE, . 146 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE NEW MOTHER, 166 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT, 162 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE, 178 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE RESULT, ; 190 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT, . 201 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE DESERT, 213 

CHAPTER XXII.. 

JEGAR SAHADUTHA, 223 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS, 286 


CONTENTS. 


V 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

MOl 

TOM GORDON’S PLANS, 245 

CHAPTER XXV. 

LYNCH LAW, 251 

I 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

MORE VIOLENCE, 266 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

ENGEDI, 273 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE SLAVE HUNT, 283 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

“ ALL OVER,” 289 

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE BURIAL, 296 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE ESCAPE, 301 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

LYNCH LAW AGAIN, 311 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

FLIGHT, 325 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN, 333 

APPENDIX L, 339 

IL, 348 

HI., 368 


n. 


1 * 
















































































































' 














































































































♦ 






































































- 































CHAPTER I. 


LIFE IN THE SWAMPS. 

Our readers will perhaps feel an interest to turn back 
with us, and follow the singular wanderings of the mys- 
terious personage, whose wild denunciations had so dis- 
turbed the minds of the worshippers at the camp-meeting. 

There is a twilight-ground between the boundaries of the 
sane and insane, which the old Greeks and Romans regarded 
with a peculiar veneration. They held a person whose fac- 
ulties were thus darkened as walking under the awful 
shadow of a supernatural presence ; and, as the mysterious 
secrets of the stars only become vi^Wl^n the night, so in 
these eclipses of the more material faculties they held there 
was often an awakening of supernatural perceptions. 

The hot and positive light of our modern materialism, 
which exhales from the growth of our existence every dew- 
drop, which searches out and dries every rivulet of ro- 
mance, which sends an unsparing beam into every cool 
grotto of poetic possibility, withering the moss, and turning 
the dropping cave to a dusty den — this spirit, so remorse- 
less, allows us no such indefinite land. There are but two 

IP 

words in the whole department of modern anthropology — 
the sane and the insane ; the latter dismissed from human 
reckoning almost with contempt. We should find it diffi- 
cult to give a suitable name to the strange and abnormal 
condition in which this singular being, of whom we are 
speaking, passed the most of his time. 

It was a state of exaltation and trance, which yet ap- 
peared not at all to impede the exercise of his outward and 


6 


LIFE IN THE SWAMPS. 


physical fac llties, but rather to give them a preternatural 
keenness and intensity, such as sometimes attends the more 
completely-developed phenomena of somnambulism. 

In regard to his physical system there was also much 
that was peculiar. Our readers may imagine a human body 
of the largest and keenest vitality, to grow up so com- 
pletely under the nursing influences of nature, that it may 
seem to be as perfectly en rapport with them as a tree ; so 
that the rain, the wind, and the thunder, all those forces 
from which human beings generally seek shelter, seem to 
hold with it a kind of fellowship, and to be familiar com- 
panions of existence. 

Such was the case with Dred. So completely had he 
come into sympathy and communion with nature, and with 
those forms of it which more particularly surrounded him 
in the swamps, that he moved about among them with as 
much ease as a lady treads her Turkey carpet. What would 
seem to us in recital to be incredible hardship, was to him 
but an ordinary c^dttion of existence. To walk knee-deep 
in the spongy sorT ot^xhe swamp, to force his way through 
thickets, to lie all-night sinking in the porous soil, or to 
crouch, like the alligator, among reeds and rushes, were to 
him situations of as much comfort as well-curtained beds 
and pillows are to us. 

It is not to be denied, that there is in this savage perfec- 
tion of the natural organs a keen and almost fierce delight, 
which must excel the softest seductions of luxury. Any- 
body who has ever watched the eager zest with which the 
hunting-dog plunges through the woods, darts through the 
thicket, or dives into water, in an ecstasy of enjoyment, sees 
something of what such vital force must be. 

Dred was under the inspiring belief that he was the sub- 
ject of visions and supernatural communications. The 
African race are said by mesmerists to possess, in the full- 
est degree, that peculiar temperament which fits them for 
the evolution of mesmeric phenomena ; and hence the ex 
istence among them, to this day, of men and women who are 


LIFE IN THE SWAMPS. 


7 

supposed to have peculiar magical powers. The grand- 
father of Bred, on his mother’s side, had been one of these 
reputed African sorcerers ; and he nad early discovered in 
the boy this peculiar species of temperament. He had 
taught him the secret of snake-charming, and had possessed 
his mind from childhood with expectations of prophetic and 
supernatural impulses. That mysterious and singular gift, 
whatever it may be, which Highland seers denominate sec- 
ond sight, is a very common tradition among the negroes ; 
and there are not wanting thousands of reputed instances 
among them to confirm belief in it. What this faculty may 
be, we shall not pretend to say. Whether there be in the 
soul a yet undeveloped attribute, which is to be to the 
future what memory is to the past, or whether in some in- 
dividuals an extremely high and perfect condition of the 
sensuous organization endows them with something of that 
certainty of instinctive discrimination which belongs to ani- 
mals, are things which we shall not venture to decide upon. 

It was, however, an absolute fact with regard to Dred, 
that he had often escaped danger by means of a peculiarity 
of this kind. He had been warned from particular places 
where the hunters had lain in wait for him ; had foreseen in 
times of want where game might be ensnared, and received 
intimations where persons were to be found in whom he 
might safely confide ; and his predictions with regard to 
persons and things had often changed to be so strikingly 
true, as to invest his sayings with a singular awe and 
importance among his associates. 

It was a remarkable fact, but one not peculiar to this case 
alone, that the mysterious exaltation of mind in this indi- 
vidual seemed to run parallel with the current of shrewd, 
practical sense ; and, like a man who converses alternately 
in two languages, he would speak now the language of ex- 
altation, and now that of common life, interchangeably. 
This peculiarity imparted a singular and grotesque effect to 
his whole personality. 

On the night of the camp-meeting, he was, as we have 


8 


LIFE IN THE SWAMPS. 


already seen, in a state of the highest ecstasy. The wanton 
murder of his associate seemed to flood his soul with an 
awful tide of emotion, as a thunder-cloud is filled and 
shaken by slow-gathering electricity. And, although the 
distance from his retreat to the camp-ground was nearly 
fifteen miles, most of it through what seemed to be impas- 
sable swamps, yet he performed it with as little conscious- 
ness of fatigue as if he had been a spirit. Even had he 
been perceived at that time, it is probable that he could 
no more have been taken, or bound, than the demoniac of 
Gadara. 

After he parted from Ilarrv, he pursued his way to the 
interior of the swamp, as was his usual habit, repeating to 
himself, in a chanting voice, such words of prophetic writ 
as were familiar to him. 

The day had been sultry, and it was now an hour or two 
past midnight, when a thunder-storm, which had long been 
gathering and muttering in the distant sky, began to 
develop its forces. 

A low, shivering sigh crept through the woods, and 
swayed in weird whistlings the tops of the pines ; and sharp 
arrows of lightning came glittering down among the dark- 
ness of the branches, as if sent from the bow of some warlike 
angel. An army of heavy clouds swept in a moment across 
the moon ; then came a broad, dazzling, blinding sheet of 
flame, concentrating itself on the top of a tall pine near 
where Dred was standing, and in a moment shivered all its 
branches to the ground, as a child strips the leaves from a 
twig. Dred clapped his hands with a fierce delight ; and, 
while the rain and wind were howling and hissing around 
him, he shouted aloud : 

“ Wake, 0, arm of the Lord ! Awake, put on thy 
strength ! The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars — yea, 
the cedars of Lebanon ! The voice of the Lord divideth 
the flames of fire ! The voice of the Lord snaketh the wil- 
derness of Kadesh ! Hail-stones and coals of fire ! ” 

The storm, which howled around him, bent the forest like 


LIFE IN TEE SWAMPS. 


9 


a reed, and large trees, uprooted from the spongy and trem- 
ulous soil, fell crashing with a tremendous noise ; but, as if 
he had been a dark spirit of the tempest, he shouted and 
exulted. 

The perception of such awful power seemed to animate 
him, and yet to excite in his soul an impatience that He 
whose power was so infinite did not awake to judgment. 

tl Rend the heavens,” he cried, ' and come down ! 
Avenge the innocent blood 1 Cast forth thine arrows, 
and slay them ! Shoot out thy lightnings, and destroy 
them 1 ” 

His soul seemed to kindle with almost a fierce impa- 
tience, at the toleration of that Almighty Being, who, hav- 
ing the power to blast and to burn, so silently endures. 
Could Dred Lave possessed himself of those lightnings, 
what would have stood before him ? But his cry, like the 
cry of thousands, only went up to stand in waiting till an 
awful coming day ! 

Gradually the storm passed by ; the big drops dashed less 
and less frequently ; a softer breeze passed through the 
forest, with a patter like the clapping of a thousand little 
wings ; and the moon occasionally looked over the silvery 
battlemenfs of the great clouds. 

As Dred was starting to go forward, one of these clear 
revealings showed him the cowering form of a man, crouched 
at the root of a tree, a few paces in front of him. He was 
evidently a fugitive, and, in fact, was the one of whose es- 
cape to the swamps the Georgia trader had complained or 
the day of the meeting. 

“ Who is here, at this time of night ? ” said Dred, com 
ing up to him. 

“I have lost my way,” said the other. “I don’t know 
where I am ! ” 

“ A runaway ? ” inquired Dred. 

“ Don’t betray me ! ” said the other, apprehensively. 

“ Betray you ! Would I do that ? ” said Dred. “ How 
did you get into the swamp ? ” 


10 


LIFE IN THE SWAMPS. 


1 1 got away from a soul-driver’s camp, that was taking 
us on through the states.” 

“0, 0 1 ” said Dred. “ Camp-meeting and driver’s 
camp right alongside of each other ! Shepherds that sell 
the flock, and pick the bones I Well, come, old man ; I ’ll 
take you home with me.” 

“ I ’m pretty much beat out,” said the man. “ It ’s been 
up over my knees every step ; and I did n’t know but 
they ’d set the dogs after me. If they do, I ’ll let ’em kill 
me, and done with it, for I ’m ’bout ready to have it over 
with. I got free once, and got clear up to New York, 
and got me a little bit of a house, and a wife and two chil- 
dren, with .a little money beforehand ; and then they nabbed 
me, and sent me back again, and mas’r sold me to the dri- 
vers, — and I believe I ’s ’bout as good ’s die. There ’s no 
use in trying to live — everything going agin a body so 1 ” 

“ Die ! No, indeed, you won’t,” said Dred ; “ not if I ’ve 
got hold of you ! Take heart, man, take heart 1 Before 
morning I ’ll put you where the dogs can’t find you, nor 
anything else. Come, up with you ! ” 

The man rose up, and made an effort to follow ; but, 
wearied, and unused as he was to the choked and perplexed 
way, he stumbled and fell almost every minute. 

“ How now, brother ? ” said Dred. “ This won’t do ! I 
must put you over my shoulder as I have many a buck before 
now ! ” And, suiting the action to th6 word, he put the 
man on his back, and, bidding him hold fast to him, went 
on, picking his way as if he scarcely perceived his weight. 

It was now between two and three o’clock, and the clouds, 
gradually dispersing, allowed the full light of the moon to 
slide down here and there through the wet and shivering 
foliage. No sound was heard, save the humming of insects 
and the crackling plunges by which Dred made his way foi 
ward. 

“You must be pretty strong!” said his companion. 
“ Have you been in the swamps long ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the other, “ I have been a wild man — eve r 


LIFE IN THE SWAMPS. 


11 


•nan’s hand against me — a companion of the dragons and 
the owls, this many a year. I have made my bed with the 
leviathan, among the reeds and the rushes. I have found 
the alligators and the snakes better neighbors than Chris- 
tians. They let those alone that let them alone ; but Chris- 
tians will hunt for the precious life.” 

After about an hour of steady travelling, Dred arrived 
at the outskirts of the island which we have described. 
For about twenty paces before he reached it, he waded 
waist-deep in water. Creeping out, at last, and telling the 
other one to follow him, he began carefully coursing along 
on his hands and knees, giving, at the same time, a long, 
shrill, peculiar whistle. It was responded to by a similar 
sound, which seemed to proceed through the bushes. After 
a while, a crackling noise was heard, as of some animal, 
which gradually seemed to come nearer and nearer to them, 
till finally a large water-dog emerged from the underbrush, 
and began testifying his joy at the arrival of the new comer, 
by most extravagant gambols. 

“ So, ho ! Buck 1 quiet, my boy ! ” said Dred. “ Show 
us the way in I ” 

The dog, as if understanding the words, immediately 
turned into the thicket, and Dred and his companion fol- 
lowed him, on their hands and knees. The path wound up 
and down the brushwood, through many sharp turnings, till 
at last it ceased altogether, at the roots of a tree ; and, 
while the dog disappeared among the brushwood, Dred 
climbed the tree, and directed his companion to follow him, 
and, proceeding out on to one of the longest limbs, he spraug 
nimbly on to the ground in the cleared space which we have 
before described. 

His wife was standing waiting for him, and threw herself 
upon him with a cry of joy. 

“ 0, vou We come back I I thought, sure enough, dey ; d 
got you dis time ! ” 

“ Not yet! I must continue till the opening of the seals 
— till the vision cometh 1 Have ye buried him ? ” 

2 


ii. 


12 


LIFE IN THE SWAMPS. 


“ No ; there ’s a grave dug down yonder, and he ’s been 
carried there.” 

“ Come, then ! ” said Dred. 

At a distant part of the clearing was a blasted cedar-tree, 
all whose natural foliage had perished. But it was veiled 
from head to foot in long wreaths of the tillandsia, the par- 
asitic moss of these regions, and, in the dim light of the 
approaching dawn, might have formed no unapt resemblance 
to a gigantic spectre dressed in mourning weeds. 

Beneath this tree Dred had interred, from time to time, 
the bodies of fugitives which he found dead in the swamps, 
attaching to this disposition of them some peculiar super- 
stitious idea. 

The widow of the dead, the wife of Dred, and the new 
comer, were now gathered around the shallow grave ; for the 
soil was such as scarcely gave room to make a place deep 
enough for a grave without its becoming filled with water. 

The dawn was just commencing a dim foreshadowing in 
the sky. The moon and stars were still shining. 

Dred stood and looked up, and spoke, in a solemn voice. 

“ Seek him that maketh Arcturus and Orion — that turn- 
eth the shadow of death into morning ! Behold those lights 
in the sky — the lights in his hands pierced for the sins of 
the world, and spread forth as on a cross ! But the day 
shall come that he shall lay down the yoke, and he will bear 
the sin of the world no longer. Then shall come the great 
judgment. He will lay righteousness to the line and judg- 
ment to the plummet, and the hail shall sweep away the 
refuges of lies.” 

lie stooped, and, lifting the body, laid him in the grave, 
and at this moment the wife broke into a loud lament. 

“ Hush, woman ! ” said Dred, raising his hand. “ Weep 
ye ndtdbr the dead, neither bewail him ; but weep ye sore 
for the living ! He must rest till the rest of his brethren 
be killed ; for the vision is sealed up for an appointed time. 
If it tarry, wait for it. It shall surely come, and shall not 
tarry ! ” 


CHAPTER II. 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 

f 

A glorious morning, washed by the tears of last night’s 
Shower, rose like a bride upon Canema. The rain-drops 
sparkled and winked from leaf to leaf, or fell in showery 
diamonds in the breeze. The breath of numberless roses, 
now in full bfoom, rose in clouds to the windows. 

The breakfast-table, with its clean damask, glittering sil- 
ver, and fragrant coffee, received the last evening’s par- 
ticipants of the camp-meeting in fresh morning spirits, 
ready to discuss, as an every-day affair, what, the evening 
before, they had felt too deeply, perhaps, to discuss. 

On the way home, they had spoken of the scenes of the 
day, and wondered and speculated on the singular incident 
which closed it. But, of all the dark circle of woe and 
crime, — of all that valley of vision which was present to 
the mind of him who spoke, — they were as practically 
ignorant as the dwellers of the curtained boudoirs of New 
York are of the fearful mysteries of the Five Points. 

The aristocratic nature of society at the South so com- 
pletely segregates people of a certain position in life from 
any acquaintance with the movements of human nature in 
circles below them, that the most fearful things may be 
transacting in their vicinity unknown or unnoticed. The 
horrors and sorrows of the slave-coffle were a sealed book 
to Nina and Anne Clayton. They had scarcely dreamed of 
them; and Uncle John, if he knew their existence, took 
very good care to keep out of their way, as he would turn 
from any other painful and disagreeable scene. 


14 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


All of them had heard something of negro-hunters, and 
regarded them as low, vulgar people, but troubled their 
heads little further on the subject ; so that they would have 
been quite at a loss for the discovery of any national sins 
that could have appropriately drawn down the denunciations 
of Heaven. 

The serious thoughts and aspirations which might have 
risen in any of the company, the evening before, assumed, 
with everything else, quite another light under the rays of 
morning. 

All of us must have had experience, in our own histories, 
of the great difference between the night and the morning 
view of the same subject. 

What we have thought and said in the august presence 
of witnessing stars, or < beneath the holy shadows of 
moonlight, seems with the hot, dry light of next day’s sun 
to take wings, and rise to heaven with the night’s clear 
drops. If all the prayers and good resolutions which are 
laid down on sleeping pillows could be found there on 
awaking, the world would be better than it is. 

Of this Uncle John Gordon had experience, as he sat 
himself down at the breakfast-table. The night before, he 
realized, in some dim wise, that he, Mr. John -Gordon, was 
not merely a fat, elderly gentleman, in blue coat and white 
vest, whose great object in existence was to eat well, drink 
well, sleep well, wear clean linen, and keep out of the way 
of trouble. He had within him a tumult of yearnings and 
aspirings, — uprisings of that great, life-long sleeper, 
which we call soul, and which, when it wakes, is an awfully 
clamorous, craving, exacting, troublesome inmate, and which 
is therefore generally put asleep again in the shortest 
time, by whatever opiates may come to hand. Last night, 
urged on by this troublesome guest, stimulated by the 
vague power of such awful words as judgment and eternity, 
he had gone out and knelt down as a mourner for sin 
and a seeker for salvation, both words standing for very 
real and awful facts ; and, this morning, although it was 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


15 


probably a more sensible and appropriate thing than most 
of the things he was in the habit of doing, he was almost 
ashamed of it. The question arose, at table, whether 
another excursion should be made to the camp-ground. 

“ For my part/’ said Aunt Maria, “ I hope you 'll not go 
again, Mr. Gordon. I think you had better keep out of the 
way of such things. I really was vexed to see you in that 
rabble of such very common people 1 ” 

“You’ll observe,” said Uncle John, “that, when Mrs. 
G. goes to heaven, she ’ll notify the Lord, forthwith, that 
she has only been accustomed to the most select circles, 
and requests to be admitted at the front door.” 

“ It is n’t because I object to being with common people,” 
said Anne Clayton, “that I dislike this custom of going to 
the altar ; but it seems to me an invasion of that privacy 
and reserve which belong to our most sacred feelings. Be- 
sides, there are in a crowd coarse, rude, disagreeable 
people, with whom it is n’t pleasant to come in contact.” 

“ For my part,” said Mrs. John Gordon, “ I don’t believe 
in it at all ! It’s a mere temporary excitement. People 
go and get wonderfully wrought up, come away, and are 
just what they were before.” 

“ Well,” said Clayton, “ is n’t it better to be wrought up 
once in a while, than never to have any religious feelings \ 
Is n’t it better to have a vivid impression of the vastness 
and worth of the soul, — of the power of an endless life, — 
for a few hours once a year, than never to feel it at al! ? 
The multitudes of those people, there, never hear or think a 
word of these things at any other time in their lives. For 
my part,” he added, “ I don’t see why it ’s a thing to be 
ashamed of, if Mr. Gordon or I should have knelt at the 
altar last night, even if we do not feel like it this morning. 
We are too often ashamed of our better moments ; — I 
believe Protestant Christians are the only people on earth 
who are ashamed of the outward recognition of their reli- 
gion. The Mahometan will prostrate himself in the street, 
or wherever he happens to be when his hour for prayer 


16 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


comes. The Roman Catholic sailor, or soldiei, kneels down 
at the sound of the vesper bell. But we rather take pride 
in having it understood that we take our religion moderately 
and coolly, and that we are not going to put ourselves 
much out about it.” 

“Well, but, brother,” said Anne, “I will maintain, 
still, that there is a reserve about these things which belongs 
to the best Christians. And did not our Saviour tell us 
that our prayers and alms should be in secret ? ” 

“ I do not deny at all what you say, Anne,” said Clay- 
ton ; “ but I think what I said is true, notwithstanding ; 
and, both being true, of course, in some way they must be 
consistent with each other.” 

“ 1 think,” said Nina, “ the sound of the singing at these 
camp-meetings is really quite spirit-stirring and exciting.” 

“Yes,” said Clayton, “these wild tunes, and the hymns 
with which they are associated, form a kind of forest lit- 
urgy, in which the feelings of thousands of hearts have been 
embodied. Some of the tunes seem to me to have been 
^caught from the song of birds, or from the rushing of wind 
among the branches. They possess a peculiar rhythmical 
energy, well suited to express the vehement emotions of 
the masses. Did camp-meetings do no other good than to 
scatter among the people these hymns and tunes, I should 
consider them to be of inestimable value.” 

“ I must say,” said Anne, “ I always had a prejudice 
against that class both of hymns and tunes.” 

“ You misjudge them,” said Clayton, “ as you refined, 
cultivated women always do, who are brought up in the 
kid-slipper and carpet view of human life. But just imagine 
only the old Greek or Roman peasantry elevated to the 
level of one of these hymns. Take, for example, a verse 
of one I heard them sing last night : 

1 The earth shall be dissolved like snow, 

The sun shall cease to shine, 

But God, who called me here below, 

Shall be forever mine.’ 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


17 


What faith is there ! What confidence in immortality ! 
How could a man feel it, and not be ennobled ? Then, 
what a rough, hearty heroism was in that first hymn ! It 
was right manly ! ” 

“ Ah, but,” said Anne, “ half the time they sing them 
without the slightest perception of their meaning, or the 
least idea of being influenced by them.” 

tl And so do the worshippers in the sleepiest and most 
aristocratic churches,” said Clayton. “ That ’s nothing pe- 
culiar to the camp-ground. But, if it is true, what a certain 
statesman once said, ‘ Let me make the ballads of the 
people, and I care not who makes their laws/ it is certainly 
a great gain to have such noble sentiments as many of 
these hymns contain, circulating freely among the people.” 

“ What upon earth,” said Uncle John, “ do you suppose 
that last fellow was about, up in the clouds, there ? No- 
body seemed to know where he was, or who he was ; and 
I thought his discourse seemed to be rather an unexpected 
addition. He put it into us pretty strong, I thought ! De- 
clare, such a bundle of woes and -curses I never heard dis- 
tributed ! Seemed to have done up all the old prophets 
into one bundle, and tumbled it down upon our heads ! 
Some of them were quite superstitious about it, and began 
talking about warnings, and all that.” 

“ Pooh ! ” said Aunt Maria, “ the likelihood is that some 
itinerant poor preacher has fallen upon this trick for produc- 
ing a sensation. There is no end to the trickeries and the 
got-up scenes in these camp-meetings, just to produce effect. 
If I had had a pistol, I should like to have fired into the tree, 
and see whether I could n’t have changed his tune.” 

“ It seemed to me,” said Clayton, “ from the little that I 
did hear, that there was some method in his madness It 
was one of the most singular and impressive voices I ever 
heard ; and, really, the enunciation of some of those latter 
things was tremendous. But, then, in the universal 
license and general confusion of the scene, the thing was 
not so much to be wondeied at. It would be the most 


18 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


natural thing in the world that some crazy fanatic should 
be heated almost to the point of insanity by the scene, and 
take this way of unburthening himself. Such excitements 
most generally assume the form of denun ciation.” 

“ Well, now,” said Nina, “to tell the truth, I should 
like to go out again to-day. It ’s a lovely ride, and I like 
to be in. the woods. And, then, I like to walk around among 
the tents, and hear the people talk, and see all the different 
specimens of human nature that are there. I never saw 
such a gathering together in my life.” 

“Agreed!” said Uncle John. “I’ll go with you. 
After all, Clayton, here, has got the right of it, when he 
says a fellow ought n’t to be ashamed of his religion, such 
as it is.” 

“ Such as it is, to be sure ! ” said Aunt Maria, sarcas- 
tically. 

“ Yes, I say again, such as it is ! ” said Uncle John, 
bracing himself. “ I don’t pretend it ’s much. We ’ll all 
of us bear to be a good deal better, without danger of 
being translated. Now, as to this being converted, hang 
me if I know how to get at it ! I suppose that it is some- 
thing like an electric shock, — if a fellow is going to get 
it, he must go up to the machine ! ” 

“Well,” said Nina, “you do hear some queer things 
there. Don’t you remember that jolly, slashing-looking 
fellow, whom they called Bill Dakin, that came up there 
with his two dogs ? In the afternoon, after the regular ser- 
vices, we went to one of the tents where there was a very 
noisy prayer-meeting going on, and there was Bill Dakin, 
on his knees, with his hands clasped, and the tears rolling 
down his cheeks ; and father Bonnie was praying over him 
with all his might. And what do you think he said ? He 
said, 1 0, Lord, here ’s Bill Dakin ; he is converted ; now 
take him right to heaven, now he is ready, or he ’ll be drunk 
again in two weeks ! ’” 

“Well,” said Anne Clayton, tossing her head, indig 
nantly, “ that’s blasphemy, in my opinion.’' 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


19 


* 0, perhaps not,” said Clayton, “ any more than the 
^nish talk of any of our servants is intentional rude- 
ness.” 

“ Well,” said Anne, “don't you think it shows a great 
want of perception ? ” 

“ Certainly, it does,” said Clayton. “ It shows great 
rudeness and coarseness of fibre, and is not at all to be 
commended. But still we are not to judge of it by the 
rules of cultivated society. In well-trained minds every 
faculty keeps its due boundaries ; but, in this kind of wild- 
forest growth, mirthfulness will sometimes overgrow rever- 
ence, just as the yellow jessamine will completely smother 
a tree. A great many of the ordinances of the old Mosaic 
dispensation were intended to counteract this very tend- 
ency.” 

“Well,” said Nina, “did you notice poor Old Tiff, so 
intent upon getting his children converted ? He did n't 
seem to have the least thought or reference to getting into 
heaven himself. The only thing with him was to get those 
children in. Tiff seems to me just like those mistletoes 
that we see on the trees in the swamps. He don't seem 
to have any root of his own ; he seems to grow out of 
something else.” 

“ Those children are very pretty-looking, genteel chil- 
dren,” said Anne ; “ and how well they were dressed ! ” 

“My dear,” said Nina, “Tiff prostrates himself at my 
shrine, every time he meets me, to implore my favorable 
supervision as to that point ; and it really is diverting to 
hear him talk. The, old Caliban has an eye for color, and a 
sense of what is suitable, equal to any French milliner. I 
assure you, my dear, I always was reputed for having a 
talent for dress ; and Tiff appreciates me. Is n't it charming 
of him ? I declare, when I see the old creature lugging 
about those children, I always think of an ugly old cactus 
with its blossoms. I believe he verily thinks they belong 
to him just as much. Their father is entirely dismissed from 
Tiff's calculations. Evidently all he wants of him is to 


20 


# 

MORE SUMMER TALK. 

keep out of tlie way, and let him work. The whole burden 
of their education lies on his shoulders.” 

“For my part,”f&id Aunt Nesbit, “I'm glad you've 
faith to believe in those children. I have n't ; they 'll be 
sure to turn out badly — you see if they don't.'' 

“ And I think,” said Aunt Maria, “ we have enough to 
do with our own servants, without taking all these miser- 
able whites on our hands, too.” 

“ I 'm not going to take all the whites,” said Nina. “ I 'm 
going to take these children.” 

“ I wish you joy I” said Aunt Maria. 

“I wonder,” said Aunt Nesbit, “if Harry is under 
concern of mind. He seems to be dreadfully down, this 
morning.” 

“ Is he ? ” said Nina. “ I had n't noticed it.” 

“ Well,” said Uncle John, “ perhaps he 'll get set up, to- 
day — who knows? In fact, I hope I shall myself. I tell 
you what it is, parson,” said he, laying his hand on Clay- 
ton's shoulder, “ you should take the gig, to-day, and drive 
this little sinner, and let me go with the ladies. Of course 
you know Mrs. G. engrosses my whole soul ; but, then, 
there 's a kind of insensible improvement that comes from 
such celestial bodies as Miss Anne, here, that ought n't to 
be denied to me. The clergy ought to enumerate female 
influence among the means of grace. I 'm sure there 's 
nothing builds me up like it.” 

Clayton, of course, assented very readily to this arrange- 
ment ; and the party was adjusted on this basis. 

“ Look ye here, now, Clayton/' said Uncle John, tipping 
him a sly wink, after he had handed Nina in, “ you must 
confess that little penitent ! She wants a s piritual director, 
my boy ! I tell you what, Clayton, there is n't a girl like 
that in North Carolina. There 's blood, sir, there. You 
must humor her on the bit, and give her her head a while. 
Ah, but she 'll draw well at last ! I always like a creature 
that kicks to pieces harness, wagon, and all, to begin with. 
They do the best when they are broken in.” 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


21 


% 


With which profound remarks Uncle John turned to hand 
Anne Clayton to the carriage. 

Clayton understood too well what he- was about to make 
any such use of the interview as Uncle John had suggested, 
lie knew perfectly that his best chance, with a nature so 
restless as Nina’s, was to keep up a sense of perfect free- 
dom in all their intercourse ; and, therefore, no grandfather 
could have been more collected and easy in a tete-a-tete 
drive than he. The last conversation at the camp-meeting 
he knew had brought them much nearer to each other than 
they had ever stood before^ because both had spoken in deep 
earnestness of feeling of what lay deepest in their hearts ; 
and one such moment he well knew was of more binding 
force than a hundred nominal betrothals. 

The morning was one of those perfect ones which succeed 
a thunder-shower in the night ; when the air, cleared of 
every gross vapor, and impregnated with moist exhalations 
from the woods, is both balmy and stimulating. The steam- 
ing air developed to the full the balsamic properties of the 
pine-groves through which they rode ; and, where the road 
skirted the swampy land, the light fell slanting on the leaves 
of the deciduous trees, rustling and dripping with the last 
night’s shower. The heavens were full of those brilliant, 
island-like clouds, which are said to be a peculiarity of 
American skies, in their distinct relief above the intense 
blue. At a long distance they caught the sound of camp- 
meeting hymns. But, before they reached the ground, 
they saw, in more than one riotous group, the result of too 
frequent an application to Abijah Skinflint’s department, 
and others of a similar character. They visited the quar- 
ters of Old Tiff, whom they found busy ironing some clothes 
for the baby, which he had washed and hung out the night 
before. The preaching had not yet commenced, and the 
party walked about among the tents. Women were busy 
cooking and washing dishes under the trees ; and there 
was a great deal of good-natured gossiping. 

One of the most remarkable features of the day was a 


22 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


# 


sermon from father Dickson, on the sins of the church. It 
concluded with a most forcible and solemn appeal to all 
on the subject of slavery. lie reminded both the Metho- 
dists and Presbyterians that their books of discipline had 
most pointedly and unequivocally condemned' it ; that John 
Wesley had denounced it as the sum of all villanies, and 
that the general assemblies of the Presbyterian church had 
condemned it as wholly inconsistent with the religion of 
Christ, with the great law which requires us to love others 
as ourselves. He related the scene which he had lately 
witnessed in the slave-cbfifie. He spoke of the horrors of 
the inter-state slave-trade, and drew a touching picture of 
the separation of families, and the rending of all domestic 
and social ties, which resulted from it ; and, alluding to the 
unknown speaker of the evening before, told his audience 
that he had discerned a deep significance in his words, and 
that he feared, if there was not immediate repentance and 
reformation, the land would yet be given up to the visita- 
tions of divine wrath. As he spoke with feeling, he awak- 
ened feeling in return. Many were affected even to tears ; 
but, when the sermon was over, it seemed to melt away, as 
a wave flows back again into the sea. It was far easier to 
join in a temporary whirlwind of excitement, than to take 
into consideration troublesome, difficult, and expensive 
reforms. 

Yet, still, it is due to the degenerate Christianity of the 
slave states to say, that, during the long period in which 
the church there has been corrupting itself, and lowering its 
standard of right to meet a depraved institution, there have 
not been wanting, from time to time, noble confessors, who 
have spoken for God and humanity. For many years they 
were listened to with that kind of pensive tolerance which 
men give when they acknowledge their fault without any 
intention of mending. Of late years, however, the lines 
have been drawn more sharply, and such witnesses have 
spoken in peril of their lives ; so that now seldom a voice 
arises except in approbation of oppression. 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


‘28 


The sermon was fruitful of much discussion in different 
parts of the camp-ground ; and none, perhaps, was louder 
in the approbation of it than the Georgia trader, who, seated 
on Abijah’s Skinflint’s counter, declared : “ That was a par- 
son as was a parson, and that he liked his pluck ; and, for 
his part, when ministers and church-members would give 
over buying, he should take up some other trade.” 

“That was a very good sermon,” said Nina, “and I 
believe every word of it. But, then, what do you suppose 
we ought to do ? ” 

“ Why,” said Clayton, “we ought to contemplate eman- 
cipation as a future certainty, and prepare our people in the 
shortest possible time.” 

This conversation took place as the party were seated 
at their nooning under the trees, around an unpacked 
hamper of cold provisions, which they were leisurely dis- 
cussing. 

“ Why, bless my soul, Clayton,” said Uncle John, “I 
don’t see the sense of such an anathema maranatha as we 
got to-day. Good Lord, what earthly harm are we doing ? 
As to our niggers, they are better off than we are ! I say 
it coolly — that is, as coolly as a man can say anything 
between one and two o’clock, in such weather as this. 
Why, look at my niggers ! Do / ever have any chickens, 
or eggs, or cucumbers ? No, to be sure. All my chickens 
die, and the cut-worm plays the devil with my cucumbers ; 
but the niggers have enough. Theirs flourish like a green 
bay tree ; and of course I have to buy of them. They raise 
chickens, /buy ’em, and cook ’em, and then they eat ’em I 
That ’s the way it goes. As to the slave-coffles, and slave- 
prisons, and the trade, why, that ’s abominable, to be sure. 
But, Lord bless you, / don’t want it done 1 I ’d kick a 
trader off my door-steps forthwith, though I ’m all eaten up 
with woolly-heads, like locusts. I don’t like such sermons, 
for my part.” 

“ Well,” said Aunt Nesbit, “ our Mr. Titmarsh preadied 

quite another way when I attended church in E . He 

ii 3 


24 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


proved that slavery was a scriptural institution, and estab- 
lished by God.” 

“ I should think anybody’s common sense would show 
that a thing which works so poorly for both sides could n’t 
be from God,” said Nina. 

“ Who is Mr. Titmarsh ? ’’/"said Clayton to her, aside. 

“ 0, one of Aunt Nesbit’s favorites, and one of my aver 
sions! He isn’t a man — he’s nothing but a theological 
dictionary with a cravat on ! I can’t bear him I ” 

“ Now, people may talk as much as they please of the 
educated democracy of the north,” said Uncle John. “7 
don’t like ’em. What do working-men want of education ? 
— Ruins ’em ! I ’ve heard of their learned blacksmiths 
bothering around, neglecting their work, to make speeches. 
I don’t like such things. It raises them above their sphere 
And there ’s nothing going on up in those Northern States 
but a constant confusion and hubbub. All sorts of heresies 
come from the North, and infidelity, and the Lord knows 
what 1 We have peace, down here. To be sure, our poor 
whites are in a devil of a fix ; but we have n’t got ’em 
under yet. We shall get ’em in, one of these days, with 
our niggers, and then all will be contentment.” 

“ Yes,” said Nina, “ there ’s Uncle John’s view of the mil- 
lennium ! ” 

“ To be sure,” said Uncle John, “ the lower classes want 
governing — they want care ; that ’s what they want. And 
all they need to know is, what the Episcopal church cate- 
chism says, ‘ to learn and labor truly to get their own living 
in the state wherein it has pleased God to call them.’ That 
makes a well-behaved lower class, and a handsome, gentle- 
manly, orderly state of society. The upper classes ought 
to be instructed in their duties. They ought to be consid- 
erate and condescending, and all that. That ’s my view of 
society.” 

“ Then you are no republican,” said Clayton. 

“ Bless you, yes, I am ! I believe in the equality of pen- 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 
« 


25 


ttemen, and the equal rights of well-bred people. That’s 
my idea of a republic.’’ 

Clayton, Nina, and Anne, laughed. 

“ Now,” said Nina, “to see uncle so jovial and free, and 
1 Hail fellow well met,’ with everybody, you ’d think he 
was the greatest democrat that ever walked. But, you see, 
it ’s only because he ’s so immeasurably certain of his su- 
perior position — that’s all. He isn’t afraid to kneel at the 
altar with Bill Dakin, or Jim Sykes, because he ’s so sure 
that his position can’t be compromised.” 

“Besides that, chick,” said Uncle John, “I have the 
sense to know that, in my Maker’s presence, all human 
differences are child’s play.” And Uncle John spoke with 
a momentary solemnity which was heartfelt. 

It was agreed by the party that they would not stay to 
attend the evening exercises. The novelty of the effect 
was over, and Aunt Nesbit spoke of the bad effects of 
falling dew and night air. Accordingly, as soon as the air 
was sufficiently cooled to make riding practicable, the party 
were again on their way home 

The woodland path was streaked with green and golden 
bands of light thrown between the tree-trunks across the 
way, and the trees reverberated with the evening song of 
birds. Nina and Clayton naturally fell into a quiet and 
subdued train of conversation. 

“ It is strange,” said Nina, “ these talkings and search- 
ings about religion. Now, there are people who have 
something they call religion, which I don’t think does them 
any good. It is n’t of any use — it does n’t make them 
better — and it makes them very disagreeable I would 
rather be as I am, than to have what they call religion. 
But, then, there are others that have something which I 
know is religion ; something that I know I have not ; some- 
thing that I ’d give all the world to have, and don’t know 
how to get. Now, there was Livy Ray — you ought to 
have seen Livy Ray — there was something so superior 
about her * and, what was extraordinary is, that she was 


26 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


good without being stupid. What do you suppose the 
reason is that good people are generally so stupid ? ” 

“ A great deal,” said Clayton, “ is called goodness, which 
is nothing but want of force. A person is said to have 
self-government simply because he has nothing to govern. 
They talk about self-denial, when their desires are so weak 
that one course is about as easy to them as another. Such 
people easily fall into a religious routine, get by heart a 
set of phrases, and make, as you say, very stupid, good 
people.” 

“ Now, Livy,” said Nina, “ was remarkable. She had 
that kind of education that they give girls in New England, 
stronger ajid more like a man’s than ours. She could read 
Greek and Latin as easily as she could French and Italian. 
She was keen, shrewd, and witty, and had a kind of wild 
grace about her, like these grape-vines ; yet she was so 
strong I Well, do you know, I almost worship Livy ? And 
I think, the little while she was in our school, she did me 
more good than all the teachers and studying put together. 
Why, it does one good to know that such people are possi- 
ble. Don’t you think it does ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Clayton ; “all the good in the world is done 
by the personality of people. Now, in books, it isn’t so 
much what you learn from them, as the contact it gives you 
with the personality of the writer, that improves you. A 
real book always makes you feel that there is more in the 
writer than anything that he has said.” 

“That,” said Nina, eagerly, “is just the way I feel 
toward Livy. She seems to me/ike a mine. When I was 
with her the longest, I always felt as if I had n’t half seen 
her. She always made me hungry to know her more. I 
mean to read you some of her letters, some time. She 
writes beautiful letters ; and I appreciate that very much, 
because I can’t do it. I can talk better than I can write. 
Somehow my ideas will not take a course down through 
my arms ; they always will run up to my mouth. But you 
ought to see Livy ; such people always make me very dis- 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


27 


contented with myself. I don't know what the reason is 
that I like to see superior people, and things, when they 
always make me realize what a poor concern I am. Now, 
the first time I heard Jenny Lind sing, it spoiled all my 
music and all my songs for me, — turned them all to trash 
at one stroke, — and yet I liked it. But I don't seem to have 
got any further in goodness than just dissatisfaction with 
myself." 

“Well," said Clayton, “ there 's where the foundation- 
stone of all excellence is laid. The very first blessing that 
Christ pronounced was on those who were poor in spirit. 
The indispensable condition to all progress in art, science, 
or religion, is to feel that we have nothing." 

“Do you know," said Nina, after something of a 
pause, “ that I can't help wondering what you took up 
with me for ? I have thought very often that you ought to 
have Livy Ray." 

“ Well, I 'm much obliged to you," said Clayton, “ for 
your consideration in providing for me. But, supposing I 
should prefer my own choice, after all ? We men are a little 
wilful, sometimes, like you of the gentler sex." 

“ Well," said Nina, “ if you will have the bad taste, then, 
to insist on liking me, let me warn you that you don't know 
what you are about. I 'm a very unformed, unpractical 
person. I don't keep accounts. I 'm nothing at all of a 
housekeeper. I shall leave open drawers, and scatter 
papers, and forget the day of the month, and tear the news- 
paper, and do everything else that is wicked ; and then, one 
of these days, it will be, ‘ Nina, why have n't you done this ? 
and why have n't you done that ? and why don't you do the 
other ? and why do you do something else ? ' Ah, I 've heard 
you men talk before ! And, then, you see, I shan't like 
it, and I shan't behave well. Have n't the least hope of it ; 
won't ever engage to ! — So, now, won't you take warn- 
ing ?” 

“ No," said Clayton, looking at her with a curious kind 
of smile, “ I don't think I shall." 
ii 3* 


28 


MORE SUMMER TALK. 


“ How dreadfully positive and self-willed men are ! ” said 
Nina, drawing a long breath, and pretending to laugh. 

“ There 's so little of that in you ladies,” said Clayton, 
“ we have to do it for both.” 

“ So, then,” said Nina, looking round with a half-laugh 
and half-blush, “ you will persist ? ” 

“ Yes, you wicked little witch ! ” said Clayton, “ since you 
challenge me, I will .’ 7 And, as he spoke, he passed his 
arm round Nina firmly, and fixed his eyes on hers. “ Come, 
now, my little Baltimore oriole, have I caught you ? ” And 
But we are making our chapter too long. 


CHAPTER III. 

milly’s return. 

The visit of Clayton and his sister, like all other pleasant 
things, had its end. Clayton was called back to his law- 
office and books, and Anne went to make some summer visits 
previous to her going to Clayton’s plantation of Magnolia 
Grove, where she was to superintend his various schemes 
/or the improvement of his negroes. 

Although it was gravely insisted to the last that there 
was no engagement between Nina and Clayton, it became 
evident enough to all parties that only the name was want- 
ing. The warmest possible friendship existed between Nina 
and Anne ; and, notwithstanding that Nina almost every day 
said something which crossed Anne’s nicely-adjusted views, 
and notwithstanding Anne had a gentle infusion of that 
disposition to sermonize which often exists in very excellent 
young ladies, still the two got on excellently well together. 

It is to be confessed that, the week after they left, Nina was 
rather restless and lonesome, and troubled to pass her time. 
An incident, which we shall relate, however, gave her 
something to think of, and opens a new page in our story. 

While sitting on the veranda, after breakfast, her atten- 
tion was called by various exclamations from the negro 
department, on the right side of the mansion ; and, looking 
out, to her great surprise, she saw Milly standing amid a 
group, who were surrounding her with eager demonstra- 
tions. Immediately she ran down the steps to inquire what 
it might mean. Approaching nearer, she was somewhat 
startled to see that her old friend had he* head bound *ip 


30 


milly’s return. 


and her arm in a sling ; and, as she came towards her, she 
observed that she seemed to walk with difficulty, with a 
gait quite different from her usual firm, hilarious tread. 

“ Why, Milly ! ” she said, running towards her with 
eagerness, “ what is the matter? ” 

“Not much, chile, I reckon, now I ’s got home ! ” said 
Milly. 

“ Well, but what ’s the matter with your arm ? 77 

“No great ! Dat ar man shot me ; but, praise de Lord, 
he did n’t kill me ! I don’t owe him no grudge ; but I 
thought it wan’t right and fit that I should be treated so ; 
and so I justpi^/” 

“ Why, come in the house this minute ! 77 said Nina, 
laying hold of her friend, and drawing her towards the steps. 
“ It ’s a shame ! Come in, Milly, come in ! That man ! I 
knew he was n’t to be trusted. So, this is the good place 
he found for you, is it ? 77 

“ Jes so,” said Tomtit, who, at the head of a dark 
stream of young juveniles, came after, with a towel hanging 
over one arm, and a knife half cleaned in his hand, while 
Rose and Old Hundred, and several others, followed to the 
veranda. 

“ Laws-a-me ! ” said Aunt Rose, “just to think on ’t ! 
Dat ’s what ’t is for old fam’lies to hire der niggers out to 
common people ! ” 

“ Well,” said Old Hundred, “ Milly was allers too high 
feelin’ ; held her head up too much An’t no ways surprised 
at it 1 ” 

“ 0, go ’long, you old hominy-beetle 1 ” said Aunt Rose 
“ Don’t know nobody dat holds up der head higher nor you 
does ! ” 

Nina, after having dismissed the special train of the 
juveniles and servants, began to examine into the condition 
of her friend. The arm had evidently been grazed by a 
bullet, producing somewhat of a deep flesh-wound, which 
had been aggravated by the heat of the weather and the 
fatigue which she had undergone. On removing the 


milly’s return. 


31 


bandage round her head, a number of deep and severe flesh- 
cuts were perceived. 

“ What ’s all this ? ” said Nina. 

“ It ’s whar he hit me over de head ! He was in drink, 
chile ; he did n’t well know what he was ’bout ! ” 

“ What an abominable shame ! ” said Nina. u Look 
here,” turning round to Aunt Nesbit, “ see what comes of 
hiring Milly out ! ” 

“ I am sure I don’t know what ’s to be done ! ” said 
Aunt Nesbit, pitifully. 

“ Done ! why, of course, these are to be bandaged and 
put up, in the first place,” said Nina, bustling about with 
great promptness, tearing off bandages, and ringing for 
warm water. “ Aunt Milly, I ’ll do them up for you myself. 
I ’m a pretty good nurse, when I set about it.” 

“ Bless you , chile, but it seems good to get home ’mong 
friends 1 ” 

“ Yes ; and you won’t go away again in a hurry ! ” 
said Nina, as she proceeded rapidly with her undertaking, 
washing and bandaging the wound. “ There, now,” she 
said, “ you look something like ; and now you shall lie down 
in my room, and take a little rest ! ” 

“ Thank ye, honey, chile, but I ’ll go to my own room ; 
’pears like it ’s more home like,” said Milly. And Nina, 
with her usual energy, waited on her there, closed the 
blinds, and spread a shawl over her after she had lain down, 
and, after charging her two or three times to go to sleep 
and be quiet, she left her. She could hardly wait to have 
her get through her nap, so full was she of the matter, and 
so interested to learn the particulars of her story. 

“ A pretty business, indeed ! ” she said to Aunt Nesbit. 
“ We ’ll prosecute those people, and make them pay dear 
for it.” 

“ That will be a great expense,” said Aunt Nesbit, appre- 
hensively, “ besides the loss of her time.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, “ I shall write to Clayton about it 
directly. I know he ’ll feel just as I do. He understands 


32 


milly's return. 


the law, and all about those things, and he '11 know how to 
manage it." 

“ Everything will make expense ! " said Aunt Nesbit, 
in a deplorable voice. “ I 'm sure misfortunes never 
come single ! Now, if she don't go back, I shall lose her 
wages ! And here 's all the expenses of a law-suit, besides ! 
I think she ought to have been more careful." 

“ Why, aunt, for pity’s sake, you don't pretend that you 
wish Milly to go back ? " 

“ 0, no, of course I don't ; but, then, it 's a pity. It 
will be a great loss, every way." 

“ Why, aunt, you really talk as if you did n't think of 
anything but your loss. You don't seem to think anything 
about what Milly has had to suffer ! " 

“ Why, of course, I feel sorry for that," said Aunt Nes- 
bit. “ I wonder if she is going to be laid up long. I wish, 
on the wUole, I had hired out one that was n't quite so use- 
ful to me." 

“ Now, if that is n't just like her ! " said Nina, in 
an indignant tone, as she flung out of the room, and 
went to look softly in at Milly’s door. “ Never can see, 
hear, or think, of anything but herself, no matter what 
nappens ! I wonder why Milly could n't have belonged to 
me ! " 

After two or three hours' sleep, Milly came out of her 
room, seeming much better. A perfectly vigorous phys- 
ical system, and vital powers all moving in the finest 
order, enabled her to endure much more than ordinary ; and 
Nina soon became satisfied that no material injury had 
been sustained, and that in a few days she would be quite 
recovered. 

“ And now, Milly, do pray tell me where you have been," 
said Nina, “ and what this is all about." 

“ Why, you see, honey, I was hired to Mr. Barker, and 
dey said ‘ he was a mighty nice man ; ’ and so he was, honey, 
most times ; but, den, you see, honey, dere 's some folks 
dere 's two men in 'em, — one is a good one, and t' odei is 


milly’s return. 


33 


very bad. Well, dis yer was just dat sort. You see, 
honey, I would n’t go for to say dat he got drunk ; but he 
was dat sort dat if he took ever so little, it made him kind 
o’ ugly and cross, and so dere wan’t no suiting him. 
Well, his wife, she was pretty far ; and so he was, too, 
’cept in spots. He was one of dese yer streaked men, dat 
has dreflul ugly streaks ; and, some of dem times, de 
Lord only knows what he won’t do ! Well, you see, honey, 
I thought I was getting along right well, at first, and I was 
mighty pleased. But dere was one day he came home, and 
’peared like dere could n’t nobody suit him. Well, you 
see, dey had a gal dere, and she had a chile, and dis yer 
chile was a little thing. It got playing with a little burnt 
stick, and it blacked one of his clean shirts, I had just hung 
up, — for I’d been ironing, you see. Just den he came 
along, and you never heerd a man go on so ! I ’s heerd 
bad talk afore, but I never heerd no sich ! He swore 
he ’d kill de chile ; and I thought my soul he would ! De 
por little thing run behind me, and I just kep him off on 
it, ’cause I knowed he wan’t fit to touch it ; and den he 
turned on me, and he got a cow-hide, and he beat me over 
de head. I thought my soul he ’d kill me ! But I got to 
de door, and shut de chile out, and Hannah, she took it and 
run with it. But, bless you, it ’peared like he was a tiger, 
— screeching, and foaming, and beating me ! I broke away 
from him, and run. He just caught de rifle, — -he always 
kep one loaded, — and shot at me, and de ball Just struck 
my arm, and glanced off again. Bless de Lord, it did n’t 
break it. Dat ar was a mighty close run, I can tell you! 
But 1 did run, ’cause, thinks I, dere an’t uo safety for me 
in dat ar house ; and, you see, I run till I got to de bush, 
and den I got to whar dere was some free colored folks, and 
dey did it up, and kep me a day or two. Den I started 
and came home, just as you told me to.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, “ you did well to come home ; and I 
tell you what, I ’m going to have that man prosecuted ! ” 

** 0, laws, no, Miss Nina ! don’t you goes doing nothing 


34 


milly’s return. 


to him I His wife is a mighty nice wc man, and ’peared like 
he did n't rightly know what he was ’bout.” 

“ Yes, but, Milly, you ought to be willing, because it 
may make him more careful with other people.” 

“ Laws, Miss Nina, why, dere is some sense in dat ; but 
I would n’t x do it as bearing malice.” 

“ Not at all,” said Nina. “ I shall write to Mr. Clayton, 
and take his advice about it.” 

“ He ’s a good man,” said Milly. “ He won’t say 
nothing dat an’t right. I spect dat will do very well, dat 
ar way.” 

“ Yes,” said Nina, “ such people must be taught that the 
law will take hold of them. That will bring them to their 
bearings ! ” 

Nina went immediately to her room, and despatched a 
long letter to Clayton, full of all the particulars, and beg- 
ging his immediate assistance. 

Our readers, those who have been in similar circum- 
stances, will not wonder that Clayton saw in this letter 
an immediate call of duty to go to Canema. In fact, as 
soon as the letter could go to him, and he could perform a 
rapid horseback journey, he was once more a member of 
the domestic circle. 

He entered upon the case with great confidence and 
enthusiasm. 

“ It is a debt which we owe,” he said, “to the character 
of our state, and to the purity of our institutions, to prove 
the efficiency of the law in behalf of that class of our pop- 
ulation whose helplessness places them more particularly 
under our protection. They are to us in the condition of 
children under age ; and any violation of their rights should 
be more particularly attended to.” 

He went immediately to the neighboring town, where 
Milly had been employed, and found, fortunately, that the 
principal facts had been subject to the inspection of white 
witnesses. 

A woman, who had been hired to do some sewing, had 


milly’s return. 


35 


boon in the next room during the whole time ; and Milly’s 
flight from the house, and the man’s firing after her, had 
been observed by some workmen in the neighborhood. 
Everything, therefore, promised well, and the suit was en- 
tered forthwith. 


u. 


4 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE TRIAL. 

“ >? ill, now,” said Frank Russel, to one or two law- 
yers v ith whom he was sitting, in a side-room of the court- 
house it E., “ look out for breakers ! Clayton has mounted 
his war-horse, and is coming upon us, now, like leviathan 
from the rushes.” 

“ Clayton is a good fellow,” said one of them. “ I like 
him, though he does n't talk much.” 

“ Good ? ” said Russel, taking his cigar from his mouth ; 
“ why, as the backwoodsmen say, he an't nothing else 1 
He is a great seventy-four pounder, charged to the muzzle 
with goodness ! But, if he should be once fired off, I 'm 
afraid he 'll carry everything out of the world with him. 
Because, you see, abstract goodness does n’t suit our pres- 
ent mortal condition. But it is a perfect godsend that he 
has such a case as this to manage for his maiden plea, be- 
cause it just falls in with his heroic turn. Why, when I 
heard of it, I assure you I bestirred myself. I went about, 
and got Smithers, and Jones, and Peters, to put off suits, 
so as to give him fair field and full play. For, if he suc- 
ceeds in this, it may give him so good a conceit of the law, 
that he will keep on with it.” 

“ Why,” said the other, “ don't he like the law ? What 's 
the matter with the law ? ” 

“ 0, nothing, only Clayton has got one of those ethereal 
stomachs that rise against almost everything in this world. 
Now, there is n't more than one case in a dozen that he 'll 
undertake. He sticks and catches just like an old bureau 


THE TRIAL. 


37 


drawer. Some conscientious crick in his back is always 
taking him at a critical moment, and so he is knocked up 
for actual work. But this defending a slave-woman will 
6uit him to a T.” 

“ She is a nice creature, is n't she ? ” said one of them. 

“ And belongs to a good old family,” said another. 

“ Yes,” said the third, “ and I understand his lady-love 
has something to do with the case.” 

“ Yes,” said Russel, “ to be sure she has. The woman 
belongs to a family connection of hers, I 'm told. Miss 
Gordon is a spicy little puss — one that would be apt to 
resent anything of that sort ; and the Gordons are a very 
influential family. He is sure to get the case, though I 'm 
not clear that the law is on his side, by any means.” 

“ Not ? ” said the other barrister, who went by the name 
of Will Jones. 

11 No,” said Russel. “ In fact, I 'm pretty clear it isn't. 
But that will make no odds. When Clayton is thoroughly 
waked up, he is a whole team, I can tell you. He '11 take 
jury and judge along with him, fast enough.” 

“ I wonder,” said one, “ that Barker did n't compound 
the matter.” 

11 0, Barker is one of the stubbed sort. You know these 
middling kind of people always have a spite against old 
families. He makes fight because it is the Gordons, that 's 
all. And there comes in his republicanism. He is n't go- 
ing to be whipped in by the Gordons. Barker has got 
Scotch blood in him, and he '11 hang on to the case like 
death.” 

“ Clayton will make a good speech,” said Jones. 

“ Speech ? that he will!” said Russel. “Bless me, I 
could lay off a good speech on it, myself. Because, you 
see, it really was quite an outrage ; and the woman is 
a presentable creature. And, then, there 's the humane 
dodge ; that can be taken, beside all the chivalry part of 
defending the helpless, and all that sort of thing. I 
would n't ask for a better thing to work up into a speech. 


38 


THE TRIAL. 


But Clayton will do it better yet, because he is actually 
sincere in it. And, after ail ’s said and done, there ’s a 
good deal in that. When a fellow speaks in solemn ear- 
nest, he gives a kind of weight that you can’t easily get 
at any other way.” 

“ Well, but,” said one, “ I don’t understand you, Rus- 
sel, why you think the law is n’t on Clayton’s side. I ’m 
sure it ’s a very clear case of terrible abuse.” 

11 0, certainly it is,” said Russel, “ and the man is a 
dolt, and a brute beast, and ought to be shot, and so forth ; 
but, then, he has n’t really exceeded his legal limits, be- 
cause, you see, the law gives to the hirer all the rights of 
the master. There ’s no getting away from that, in my 
opinion. Now, any master might have done all that, and 
nobody could have done anything about it. They do do it, 
for that matter, if they ’re bad enough, and nobody thinks 
of touching them.” 

“Well, I say,” said Jones, “RuStosl, don’t you think 
that ’s too bad? ” 

“ Laws, yes, man ; but the world is full of things that are 
too bad. It ’s a bad kind of a place,” said Russel, as he lit 
another cigar. 

“ Well, how do you think Clayton is going to succeed,” 
said Jones, “ if the law is so clearly against him ? ” 

“ 0, bless you, you don’t know Clayton. He is a glo- 
rious mystifier. In the first place, he mystifies himself. 
And, now, you mark me. When a powerful fellow mysti- 
fies himself, so that he really gets himself thoroughly on to 
his own side, there ’s nobody he can’t mystify. I speak it 
in sober sadness, Jones, that the want of this faculty is a 
great hindrance to me in a certain class of cases. You see 
I can put on the pathetic and heroic, after a sort ; but I 
don’t take myself along with me — I don’t really believe 
myself. There ’s the trouble. It ’s this power of self-mys- 
tification that makes what you call earnest men. If men 
saw the real bread and butter and green cheese of life , as 


THE TRIAL. 


39 


I see it, — the hard, dry, primitive facts, — they could n't 
raise such commotions as they do.” 

“ Russel, it always makes me uncomfortable to hear you 
talk. It seems as if you did n't believe in anything ! ” 

“ 0, yes, I do,” said Russel ; “ I believe in the multipli- 
cation table, and several other things of that nature at the 
beginning of the arithmetic ; and, also, that the wicked 
will do wickedly. But, as to Clayton's splendid abstrac- 
tions, I only wish him joy of them. But, then, I shall be- 
lieve him while I hear him talk ; so will you ; so will all the 
rest of us. That 's the fun of it. But the thing will be 
just where it was before, and I shall find it so when I wake 
up to-morrow morning. It 's a pity such fellows as Clayton 
could n't be used as we use big guns. He is death on any- 
thing he fires at ; and if he only would let me load and 
point him, he and I together would make a firm that would 
sweep the land. But here he comes, upon my word.” 

“ Hallo, Clayton, all ready ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Clayton, “ I believe so. When will the case 
be called ? ” 

“ To-day, I 'm pretty sure,” said Russel. 

Clayton was destined to have something of an audience 
in his first plea ; for, the Gordons being an influential and 
a largely-connected family, there was quite an interest 
excited among them in the affair. Clayton also had many 
warm personal friends, and his father, mother, and sister, 
were to be present ; for, though residing in a different part 
of the state, they were at this time on a visit in the vicinity 
of the town of E. 

There is something in the first essay of a young man, in 
any profession, like the first launching of a ship, which 
has a never-ceasing hold on human sympathies. Clayton's 
father, mother, and sister, with Nina, at the time of the 
dialogue we have given, were sitting together in the parlor 
of a friend's house in E., discussing the same event. 

“ I am sure that he will get the case,” said Anne Clay- 
ton, with the confidence of a generous woman and warm- 
4* 


ii. 


40 


THE TRIAL. 


I earted sister. “ He has been showing me the course of 
his argument, and it is perfectly irresistible. Has he said 
anything to you about it, father ? ” 

Judge Clayton had been walking up and'down the room, 
with his hands behind him, with his usual air of considerate 
gravity. Stopping short at Anne’s question, he said, 

“ Edward’s mind and mine work so differently, that I have 
not thought best to embarrass him by any conference on 
the subject. I consider the case an unfortunate one, and 
would rather he could have had some other.” 

“ Why,” said Anne, eagerly, “ don’t you think he ’ll 
gain it ? ” 

“Not if the case goes according to law,” said Judge 
Clayton. “ But, then, Edward has a great deal of power 
of eloquence, and a good deal of skill in making a diversion 
from the main point ; so that perhaps he may get the 
case.” 

“Why,” said Nina, “ I thought cases were always decided 
according to law I What else do they make laws for ? ” 

“ You are veiy innocent, my child,” said Judge Clayton. 
“ But, father, the proof of the outrage is most abundant. 
Nobody could pretend to justify it.” 

“ Nobody will, child. But that’s nothing to the case. 
The simple point is, did the man exceed his legal power ? 
It ’s my impression he did not.” 

“ Father, what a horrible doctrine ! ” said Anne 
“I simply speak of what is,” said Judge Clayton. “I 
don’t pretend to justify it. But Edward has great power 
of exciting the feelings, and under the influence of his 
eloquence the case may go the other way, and humanity 
triumph at the expense of law.” 

Clayton’s plea came on in the afternoon, and justified the 
expectations of his friends. His personal presence was 
good, his voice melodious, and his -elocution fine. But 
what impressed his auditors, perhaps, more than these, was 
a certain elevation and clearness in the moral atmosphere 
around him, — a gravity and earnestness of conviction, 


THE TRIAL. 


41 


which gave a secret power to all he said. He took up the 
doctrine of the dependent relations of life, and of those 
rules by which they should be guided and restrained ; and 
showed that while absolute power seems to be a neces- 
sary condition of many relations of life, both reason and 
common sense dictate certain limits to it. The law guar- 
antees to the parent, the guardian, and the master, the 
right of enforcing obedience by chastisement ; and the 
reason for it is, that the subject being supposed to be im- 
perfectly developed, his good will, on the whole, be better 
consulted by allowing to his lawful guardian this power.” 

“ The good of the subject ,” he said, “ is understood to be 
the foundation of the right ; but, when chastisement is in- 
flicted without just cause, and in a manner so inconsiderate 
and brutal as to endanger the safety and well-being of the 
subject, the great foundation principle of the law is vio- 
lated. The act becomes perfectly lawless, and as incapable 
of legal defence as it is abhorrent to every sentiment of 
humanity and justice.” 

“He should endeavor to show,” he said, “by full testi- 
mony, that the case in question was one of this sort.” 

In examining witnesses Clayton showed great dignity 
and acuteness, and as the feeling of the court was already 
prepossessed in his favor, the cause evidently gathered 
strength as it went on. The testimony showed, in the 
most conclusive manner, the general excellence of Milly’s 
character, and the utter brutality of the outrage which had 
been committed upon her. In his concluding remarks, 
Clayton addressed the jury in a tone of great elevation and 
solemnity, on the duty of those to whom is intrusted the 
guardianship of the helpless. 

“ No obligation,” he said, “ can be stronger to an hon- 
orable mind, than the obligation of entire dependence. The 
fact that a human being has no refuge from our power, no 
appeal from our decisions, so far from leading to careless 
security, is one of the strongest possible motives to caution, 
and to most exact care. The African race,” he said, “had 


42 


THE TRIAL. 


been bitter sufferers. Their history had b^en one of wrong 
and cruelty, painful to every honorable mind. We of the 
present day, who sustain the relation of slaveholder / 1 
he said, “ receive from the hands of our fathers an awful 
trust. Irresponsible power is the greatest trial of human- 
ity, and if we do not strictly guard our own moral purity 
in the use of it, we shall degenerate into despots and 
tyrants. No consideration can justify us in holding this 
people in slavery an hour, Unless we make this slavery 
a guardian relation, in which our superior strength and 
intelligence is made the protector and educator of their 
simplicity and weakness.” 

“ The eyes of the world are fastened upon us,” he said. 
“ Our continuing in this position at all is, in many quarters, 
matter of severe animadversion. Let us therefore show, 
'by the spirit in which we administer our laws, by the 
impartiality with which we protect their rights, that the 
master of the helpless African is his best and truest friend.” 

It was evident, as Clayton spoke, that he carried the 
whole of his audience with him. The counsel on the other 
side felt himself much straitened. There is very little 
possibility of eloquence in defending a manifest act of 
tyranny and cruelty ; and a man speaks, also, at great dis- 
advantage, who not only is faint-hearted in his own cause, 
but feels the force of the whole surrolinding atmosphere 
against him. 

In fact, the result was, that the judge charged the jury, if 
they found the chastisement to have been disproportionate 
and cruel, to give verdict for the plaintiff. The jury, with 
little discussion, gave it unanimously accordingly, and so 
Clayton's first cause was won. 

If ever a woman feels proud of her lover, it is when she 
sees him as a successful public speaker ; and Nina, when the 
case was over, stood half-laughing, half-blushing, in a circle 
of ladies, who alternately congratulated and rallied her on 
Clayton's triumph. 

“Ah,” said Frank Russel, “ we understand the magic I 


TrrE TRIAL. 


43 


The knight always fights well when his lady-love looks 
down ! Miss Gordon must have the credit of this. She 
took all the strength out of the other side, — like the moun- 
tain of loadstone, that used to draw all the nails out of the 
ship.” 

“I am glad,” said Judge Clayton, as he walked home 
with his wife, "I am very glad that Edward has met with 
such success. His nature is so fastidious that I have had 
my fears that he would not adhere to the law. There are 
many things in it, I grant, which would naturally offend a 
fastidious mind, and one which, like his, is always idealizing 
life.” 

“ He has established a noble principle,” said Mrs. Clay- 
ton. 

“ I wish he had,” said the judge. “ It would be a very 
ungrateful task, but I could have shattered his argument 
all to pieces.” 

11 Don't tell him so ! ” said Mrs. Clayton, apprehensively ; 
“let him have the comfort of it.” 

“ Certainly I shall. Edward is a good fellow, and I hope, 
after a while, he 'll draw well in the harness.” 

Meanwhile, Frank Russel and Will Jones were walking 
along in another direction. 

11 Did n't I tell you so ? ” said Russel. “ You see, Clay- 
ton run Bedford down, horse and foot, and made us all as 
solemn as a preparatory lecture.” 

“ But he had a good argument,” said Jones. 

“To be sure he had — I never knew him to want that. 
He builds up splendid arguments, always, and the only 
thing to be said of him, after it 's all over, is, it is n’t so ; 
it 's no such thing. Barker is terribly wroth, I can assure 
you. He swears he '11 appeal the case. But that 's no 
matter. Clayton has had his day all the same. He is evi- 
dently waked up. 0, he has no more objection to a little 
popularity than you and I have, now ; and if we could hu- 
mor him along, as we would a trout, we should have him a 
first-rate lawyer, one of these days. Did you see Miss Gor- 


44 


THE TRIAL. 


don while he was pleading ? By George ! she looted so 
handsome, I was sorry I hadn’t taken her myself! ” 

“ Is she that dashing little flirting Miss Gordon that I 
heard of in New York ? ” 

“ The very same.” 

“ How came she to take a fancy to him ? ” 

“ She ? • How do I know? She ’s as full of streaks as a 
tulip ; and her liking for him is one of them. Did you no- 
tice her, Will ? — scarf flying one way, and little curls, and 
pennants, and streamers, and veil, the other ! And, then, 
those eyes ! She ’s alive, every inch of her ! She puts me 
in mind of a sweet-brier bush, winking and blinking, full of 
dew-drops, full of roses, and brisk little thorns, beside! 
Ah, she ’ll keep him awake ! ” 


CHAPTER V. 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 

Judge Clayton was not mistaken in supposing that his 
son would contemplate the issue of the case he had de- 
fended with satisfaction. As we have already intimated, 
Clayton was somewhat averse to the practice of the law. 
Regard for the feelings of his father had led him to resolve 
that he would at least give it a fair trial. His own turn of 
mind would have led him to some work of more immediate 
and practical philanthropy. He would much preferred to 
have retired to his own estate, and devoted himself, with 
his sister, to the education of his servants. But he felt that 
he could not, with due regard to his father's feelings, do 
this until he had given professional life a fair trial. 

After the scene of the trial which we have described, he 
returned to his business, and Anne solicited Nina to accom- 
pany her for a few weeks to their plantation at Magnolia 
Grove, whither, as in duty bound, we may follow her. 

Our readers will therefore be pleased to find themselves 
transported to the shady side of a veranda belonging to 
Clayton's establishment at Magnolia Grove. 

The place derived its name from a group of these beauti- 
ful trees, in the centre of which the house was situated. 
It was a long, low cottage, surrounded by deep verandas, 
festooned with an exuberance of those climbing plants 
which are so splendid in the southern latitude. 

The range of apartments which opened on the veranda 
where Anne and Nina were sitting were darkened to ex- 
clude the flies ; but the doors, standing open, gave picture- 


46 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


like gleams of the interior. The white, matted floors, light 
bamboo furniture, couches covered with glazed white linen, 
and the large vases of roses disposed , here and there, where 
the light would fall upon them, presented a back-ground of 
inviting coolness. 

It was early in the morning, and the two ladies were en- 
joying the luxury of a t§te-a-tete breakfast before the sun 
had yet dried the heavy dews which give such freshness 
to the morning air. A small table which stood between 
them was spread with choice fruits, arranged on dishes in 
green leaves ; a pitcher of iced milk, and a delicate little 
tete-k-teje coffee-service, dispensing the perfume of the most 
fragrant coffee. Nor were they wanting those small, deli- 
cate biscuits, and some of those curious forms of corn-bread, 
of the manufacture of which every southern cook is so justly 
proud. Nor should we omit the central vase of monthly 
roses, of every shade of color, the daily arrangement of 
which was the special delight of Anne’s brown little wait- 
ing-maid, Lettice. 

Anne Clayton, in a fresh white morning-wrapper, with 
her pure, healthy complexion, fine teeth, and frank, beam- 
ing smile, looked like a queenly damask rose. A queen she 
really was on her own plantation, reigning by the strongest 
of all powers, that of love. 

The African race have large ideality and veneration ; and 
in no drawing-room could Anne’s beauty and grace, her fine 
manners and carriage, secure a more appreciating and un- 
limited admiration and devotion. The negro race, with 
many of the faults of children, unite many of their most 
amiable qualities, in the simplicity and confidingness with 
which they yield themselves up in admiration of a superior 
friend. 

Nina had been there but a day, yet could not fail to read 
in the eyes of all how absolute was the reign which Anne 
held over their affections. 

“ How delightful the smell of this magnolia blossom ! ” 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 47 

said Nina. f * 0 I ’m glad that you waked me so early, 
Anne ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Ai ne, “ in this climate early rising becomes 
a necessary of life to those who mean to have any real, posi- 
tive pleasure in it ; and I ’m one of the sort that must have 
positive pleasures. Merely negative rest, lassitude, and 
dreaming, are not enough for me. I want to feel that I ’m 
alive, and that I accomplish something.” 

“ Yes, I see,” said Nina, “ you are not nominally like 
me, but really housekeeper. What wonderful skill you seem 
to have ! Is it possible that you keep nothing locked up 
here?” 

“ No,” said Anne, “ nothing. I am released from the 
power of the keys, thank fortune ! When I first came here, 
everybody told me it was sheer madness to try such a thing. 
But I told them that I was determined to do it, and Edward 
upheld me in it ; and you can see how well I ’ve suc- 
ceeded.” 

“ Indeed,” said Nina, Xi you must have magic power, for 1 
never saw a household move on so harmoniously. All your 
servants seem to think, and contrive, and take an interest 
in what they are doing. How did you begin ? What did 
you do ? ” 

“ Well,” said Anne, “ I ’ll tell you the history of the 
plantation. In the first place, it belonged to mamma’s 
uncle ; and, not to spoil a story for relation’s sake, I must 
say he was a dissipated, unprincipled man. He lived a 
perfectly heathen life here, in the most shocking way you 
can imagine ; and so the poor creatures who were under 
him were worse heathen than he. He lived with a quad- 
roon woman, who was violent tempered, and when angry 
ferociously cruel ; and so the servants were constantly 
passing from the extreme of indulgence to the extreme of 
cruelty. You can scarce have an idea of the state we found 
them in My heart almost failed, me ; but Edward said, 

* Don’t give it up, Anne ; try the good that is in them ’ 
Well, I confess, it seemed very much as it seemed to me 
u. 6 


43 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


when I was once at a water-cure establishment, — patients 
would be brought in languid, pale, cold, half dead, 
and it appeared as if it would kill them to apply cold 
water ; but, somehow or other, there was a vital power 
in them that reacted under it. Well, just so it was with 
my servants. I called them all together, and I said to 
them, ‘ Now, people have always said that you are the 
greatest thieves in the world ; that there is no managing 
you except by locking up everything from you. But, I 
think differently. I have an idea that you can be trusted. 
I have been telling people that they don’t know how much 
good there is in you ; and now, just to show them what 
you can do, 1 ’in going to begin and leave the closets and 
doors, and everything, unlocked, and I shall not watch you. 
You can take my things, if you choose ; and if, after a time, 
I find that you can’t be trusted, I shall go back to the old 
way.’ Well, my dear, I would n’t have believed myself 
that the thing would have answered so well. In the first 
place, approbativeness is a stronger principle with th® 
African race than almost any other ; they like to be thought 
well of. Immediately there was the greatest spirit in the 
house, for the poor creatures, having suddenly made the dis- 
covery that somebody thought they were to be trusted, 
were very anxious to keep up the reputation. The elder 
ones watched the younger ; and, in fact, my dear, I had 
very little trouble. The children at first troubled me going 
into my store-closet and getting the cake, notwithstanding 
very spirited government on the part of the mammies. So, 
I called my family in session again, and said that their con- 
duct had confirmed my good opinion ; that I always knew 
they could be trusted, and that my friends were astonished 
to hear how well they did ; but that I had observed that 
eome of the children probably had taken my cake. ‘ Now, 
you know,’ said I, ‘ that I have no objection to your having 
some. If any of you would enjoy a piece of cake, I shall be 
happy to give it to them, but it is not agreeable to have 
things in my closet fingered over — I shall therefore set 


MAGNOLIA GROYE. 


49 


a plate of cake out every day, and anybody that wishes to 
take some I hope will take that/ Well, my dear, my plate 
of cake stood there and dried. You won’t believe me, but 
in fact it was n’t touched.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, “ I should n’t think you could have 
had our Tomtit here ! Why, really, this goes beyond the 
virtue of white children.” 

“ My dear, it is n’t such a luxury to white children to be 
thought well of, and have a character. You must take that 
into account. It was a taste of a new kind of pleasure, 
made attractive by its novelty.” 

“ Yes,” said Nina, “ I have something in me which 
makes me feel this would be the right way. I know it 
would be with me. There ’s nothing like confidence. If a 
person trusts me, I ’m bound.” 

“Yet,” said Anne, “ I can’t get the ladies of my acquaint- 
ance to believe in it. They see how I get along, but they 
insist upon it that it’s some secret magic, or art, of mine.” 

“Well, it is so,” said Nina. “Such things are just 
like the divining-rod ; they won’t work in every hand ; it 
takes a real, generous, warm-hearted woman, like you, 
Anne. But, could you carry your system through your 
plantation, as well as your house ? ” 

“ The field-hands were more difficult to manage, on some 
accounts,” said Anne, “ but the same principle prevailed 
with them. Edward tried all he could to awaken self-respect. 
Now, I counselled that we should endeavor to form some 
decent habits before we built the cabins over. I told him 
they could not appreciate cleanliness and order. * Very 
likely they cannot,’ he said, ' but we are not to suppose 
it ; ’ and he gave orders immediately for that pretty row of 
cottages you saw down at the quarters. He put up a large 
bathing establishment. Yet he did not enforce at first per- 
sonal cleanliness by strict rules. Those who began to im- 
prove first were encouraged and noticed ; and, as they found 
this a passport to favor, the thing took rapid ly . It required 
a great while to teach them how to be consistently orderly 


50 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


and cleanly even after the first desire had been awakened 
because it is n’t every one that likes neatness and order, 
who has the forethought and skill to secure it. But there 
has been a steady progress in these respects. One curious 
peculiarity of Edward’s management gives rise to a good 
many droll scenes. He has instituted a sort of jury trial 
among them. There are certain rules for the order and 
well-being of the plantation, which all agree to abide by ; 
and, in all offences, the man is tried by a jury of his peers. 
Mr. Smith, our agent, says that these scenes are sometimes 
very diverting, but on the whole there ’s a good deal of 
shrewdness and sense manifested > but he says that, in gen- 
eral, they incline much more to severity than he would. 
You see the poor creatures have been so barbarized by the 
way they have been treated in past times, that it has made 
them hard and harsh. I assure you, Nina, I never appre- 
ciated the wisdom of God, in the laws which he made for 
the Jews in the wilderness, as I have since I ’ve tried the 
experiment myself of trying to bring a set of slaves out of 
barbarism. Now, this that I ’m telling you is the fairest 
side of the story. I can’t begin to tell you the thousand 
difficulties and trials which we have encountered in it. 
Sometimes I ’ve been almost worn out and discouraged. 
But, then, I think, if there is a missionary work in this 
world, it is this.” 

“ And what do your neighbors think about it ? ” said 
Nina. 

“ Well,” said Anne, “ they are all very polite, well-bred 
people, the families with whom we associate ; and such 
people, of course, would never think of interfering, or 
expressing a difference of opinion, in any very open way ; 
but I have the impression that they regard it with suspicion. 
They sometimes let fall words which make me think they 
do. It ’s a way of proceeding which very few would adopt, 
because it is not a money-making operation, by any means. 
The plantation barely pays for itself, because Edward makes 
that quite a secondary consideration. The thing which ex- 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


51 


cites the most murmuring is our teaching them to read. I 
teach the children myself two hours every day, because I 
think this would be less likely to be an offence than if I 
should hire a teacher. Mr. Smith teaches any of the grown 
men who are willing to take the trouble to learn. Any man 
who performs a certain amount of labor can secure to him- 
self two or three hours a day to spend as he chooses ; and 
many do choose to learn. Some of the men and the women 
have become quite good readers, and Clayton is constantly 
sending books for them. This, I’m afraid, gives great 
offence. It is against the law to do it ; but, as unjust laws 
are sometimes lived down, we thought we would test the 
practicability of doing this. There was some complaint 
made of our servants, because they have not the servile, 
subdued air which commonly marks the slave, but look, 
speak, and act, as if they respected themselves. I ’m some- 
times afraid that we shall have trouble ; but, then, I hope 
for the best.” 

“ What does Mr. Clayton expect to be the end of all 
this ? ” said Nina. 

“ Why,” said Anne, “ I think Edward has an idea that 
one of these days they may be emancipated on the soil, just 
as the serfs were in England. It looks to me rather hope- 
less, I must say ; but he says the best way is for some one 
to begin and set an example of what ought to be done, and 
he hopes that in time it will be generally followed. It 
would, if all men were like him ; but there lies my doubt. 
The number of those who would pursue such a disinterested 
course is very small. But who comes there ? Upon my 
word, if there is n’t my particular admirer, Mr. Bradshaw ! ” 

As Anne said this, a very gentlemanly middle-aged man 
came up on horseback, on the carriage-drive which passed 
in front of the veranda. He bore in his hand a large bunch 
of different-colored roses ; and, alighting, and delivering 
his horse to his servant, came up the steps, and presented it 
to Anne. 
h. 


5 * 


52 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


“ There/’'’ said he, “ are the first fruits of my roses, in 
the garden that I started in Rosedale.” 

“ Beautiful,” said Anne, taking them. “ Allow me to 
present to you Miss Gordon.” 

“ Miss Gordon, your most obedient,” said Mr. Bradshaw, 
bowing obsequiously. 

“You are just in season, Mr. Bradshaw,” s&id Anne, “ for 
I ’m sure you could n’t have had your breakfast before you 
started ; so sit down and help us with ours.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Anne,” said Mr. Bradshaw, “ the offer 
is too tempting to be refused.” And he soon established 
himself as a third at the little table, and made himself very 
sociable. 

“ Well, Miss Anne, how do all your plans proceed — all 
your benevolences and cares ? I hope your angel ministra- 
tions don’t exhaust you.” 

“ Not at all, Mr. Bradshaw ; do I look like it ? ” 

** No, indeed ! but such energy is perfectly astonishing 
to us all.” 

Nina’s practised eye observed that Mr. Bradshaw had 
that particular nervous, restless air, which belongs to a man 
who is charged with a particular message, and finds himself 
unexpectedly blockaded by the presence of a third person. 
So, after breakfast, exclaiming that she had left her crochet- 
needle in her apartment, and resisting Anne’s offer to send 
a servant for it, by declaring that nobody could find it but 
herself, she left the veranda. Mr. Bradshaw had been an old 
family friend for many years, and stood with Anne almost 
on the easy footing of a relation, which gave him the liberty 
of speaking with freedom. The moment the door of the 
parlor was closed after Nina, he drew a chair near to Anne, 
and sat down, with the unmistakable air of a man who is 
going into a confidential communication. 

„ “ The fact is, my dear Miss Clayton,” he said, “ I have 
something on my mind that I want to tell you ; and I hope 
you will think my long friendship for the family a sufficient 
warrant for my speaking on matters which really belong 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


53 


chiefly to yourself. The fact is, my dear Miss Clayton, I 
was at a small dinner-party of gentlemen, the other day, at 
Colonel Grandon’s. There was a little select set there, you 
know, — the Howards, and the Elliotts, and the Howlands, 
and so on, — and the conversation happened to turn upon 
your brother. Now, there was the very greatest respect 
for him ; they seemed to have the highest possible regard for 
his motives ; but still they lelt that he was going on & very 
dangerous course.” 

“ Dangerous ? ” said Anne, a little startled. 

“ Yes, really dangerous ; and I think so myself, though I, 
perhaps, don’t feel as strongly as some do.” 

“ Really,” said Anne, “ I ’m quite at a loss ! ” 

“ My dear Miss Anne, it ’s these improvements, you know, 
which you are making. — Don’t misapprehend me ! Admira- 
ble, very admirable, in themselves, — done from the most 
charming of motives, Miss Anne, — but dangerous, danger- 
ous ! ” 

The solemn, mysterious manner in which these last 
words were pronounced made Anne laugh ; but when she 
saw the expression of real concern on the face of her good 
friend, she checked herself, and said, 

“ Pray, explain yourself. I don’t understand you.” 

“ Why, Miss Anne, it ’s just here. W T e appreciate your 
humanity, and your self-denial, and your indulgence to your 
servants. Everybody is of opinion that it ’s admirable. 
You are really quite a model for us all. But, when it comes 
to teaching them to read and write, Miss Anne,” he said, 
lowering his voice, “ I think you don’t consider what a 
dangerous weapon you are putting into their hands. The 
knowledge will spread on to the other plantations ; bright 
niggers will pick it up ; for the very fellows who are most 
dangerous are the very ones who will be sure to learn.” 

“ What if they should ? ” said Anne. 

“ Why, my dear Miss Anne,” said he, lowering his voice, 
“ the facilities that it will afford them for combinations, for 
insurrections! You see, Miss Anne, I read a story once of 


'4 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


a man who made a cork leg with such wonderful accuracy 
that it would walk of itself, and when he got it on he 
could n’t stop its walking — it walked him to death — 
actually did ! Walked him up hill and down dale, till the poor 
man fell down exhausted ; and then it ran off with his body. 
And it ’s running with its skeleton to this day, I believe.” 

And good-natured Mr. Bradshaw conceived such a ridicu- 
lous idea, at this stage of his narrative, that he leaned back 
in his chair and laughed heartily, wiping his perspiring face 
with a cambric pocket-handkerchief. 

“ Really, Mr. Bradshaw, it’s a very amusing idea, but I 
don’t see the analogy,” said Anne. 

“ Why, don’t you see ? You begin teaching niggers, and 
having reading and writing, and all these things, going on, 
and they begin to open their eyes, and look round and 
think ; and they are having opinions of their own, they 
won’t take yours ; and they want to rise directly. And 
if they can’t rise, why, they are all discontented ; and 
there ’s the what-’s-his-name to pay with them ! Then come 
conspiracies and insurrections, no matter how well you 
treat them ; and, now, we South Carolinians have had 
experience in this matter. You must excuse us, but it is a 
terrible subject with us. Why, the leaders of that con- 
spiracy, all of them, were fellows who could read and write, 
and who had nothing in the world to wish for, in the way 
of comfort, treated with every consideration by their mas- 
ters. It is a most melancholy chapter in human nature. 
It shows that there is no trust to be placed in them. And, 
now, the best way to get along with negroes, in my opinion, 
is to make them happy ; give them plenty to eat and drink 
and wear, and keep them amused and excited, and don’t 
work them too hard. I think it ’s a great deal better than 
this kind of exciting instruction. Mind,” he said, seeing 
that Anne was going to interrupt him, “ mind, now, I ’d 
have religious instruction, of course. Now, this system of 
oral instruction, teaching them hymns and passages of 
scripture suited to their peculiar condition, it ’s just tho 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


55 


thing ; it is n’t so liable to these dangers. I hope you ’ll 
excuse me, Miss Anne, but the gentlemen really feel very 
serious about these things ; they find it ’s affecting their 
own negroes. You know, somehow, everything goes round 
from one plantation to another ; and one of them said that 
he had a very smart man who is married to one of your 
women, and he actually found him with a spelling-book, 
sitting out under a tree. He said if the man had Jiad a 
rifle he could n’t have been more alarmed ; because the 
man was just one of those sharp, resolute fellows, that, if he 
knew how to read and write, there ’s no knowing what he 
would do. Well, now, you see how it is. He takes the 
spelling-book away, and he tells him he will give him nine- 
and-thirty if he ever finds him with it again. What ’s the 
consequence ? Why, the consequence is, the man sulks and 
gets ugly, and he has to sell him. That ’s the way it ’s 
operating.” 

“ Well, then,” ’said Anne, looking somewhat puzzled, 
“ I will strictly forbid our people to allow spelling-books to 
go out of their hands, or to communicate any of these things 
off of the plantation.” 

“ 0, I tell you, Miss Anne, you can’t do it. You don’t 
know the passion in human nature for anything that is for- 
bidden. Now, I believe it ’s more that than love of read- 
ing. You can’t shut up such an experiment as you are 
making here. It ’s just like a fire. It will blaze ; it will catch 
on all the plantations round ; and I assure you it ’s matter 
of life and death with us. You smile, Miss Anne, but 
it ’s so.” 

“ Really, my dear Mr. Bradshaw, you could not have 
addressed me on a more unpleasant subject. I am sorry to 
excite the apprehension of our neighbors ; but — ” 

“ Give me leave to remind you, also, Miss Anne, that 
the teaching of slaves to read and write is an offence to 
which a severe penalty is attached by the laws.” 

“ I thought,” said Anne, “ that such barbarous laws were 
a dead letter in a Christian community, and that the best 


56 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


tribute I could pay to its Christianity was practically to dis- 
regard them.” 

“ By no means, Miss Anne, by no means ! Why, look at 
us here in South Carolina. The negroes are three to one 0"v er 
the whites now. Will it do to give them the further advan- 
tages of education and facilities of communication ? You 
see, at once, it will not. Now, well-bred people, of course, 
are extremely averse to mingling in the affairs of other fam- 
ilies ; and had you merely taught a few favorites, in a pri- 
vate way, as I believe people now and then do, it would n’t 
have seemed so bad ; but to have regular provision for 
teaching school, and school-hours, — I think, Miss Anne, 
you ’ll find it will result in unpleasant consequences.” 

t( Yes, I fancy,” said Anne, raising herself up, and 
slightly coloring, “ that I see myself in the penitentiary for 
the sin and crime of teaching children to read ! I think, 
Mr. Bradshaw, it is time such laws were disregarded. Is 
not that the only way in which many laws are repealed ? 
Society outgrows them, people disregard them, and so they 
fall away, like the calyx from some of my flowers. Come, 
now, Mr. Bradshaw, come with me to my school. I ’m go- 
ing to call it together,” said Anne, rising, and beginning to 
go down the veranda steps. “ Certainly, ray dear friend, 
you ought not to judge without seeing. Wait a moment, 
till I call Miss Gordon.” 

And Anne stepped across the shady parlor, and in a few 
moments reappeared with Nina, both arrayed in white cape- 
bonnets. They crossed to the right of the house, to a small 
cluster of neat cottages, each one of which had its little 
vegetable garden, and its plot in front carefully tended with 
flowers. They passed onward into a grove of magnolias 
which skirted the back of the house, till they came to a lit- 
tle building, with the external appearance of a small Gre- 
cian temple, the pillars of which we^e festooned with jessa- 
mine. 

“ Pray, what pretty little place is this ? ” said Mr, Brad- 
shaw. 


MAGNOLIA grove. 


57 


“ This is my school-room,” said Anne. 

Mr. Bradshaw repressed a whistle of astonishment ; but 
the emotion was plainly legible in his face, and Anne said, 
laughing, 

“ A lady’s school-room, you know, should be lady-like. 
Besides, I wish to inspire ideas of taste, refinement, and 
self-respect, in these children. I wish learning to be asso- 
ciated with the idea of elegance and beauty.” 

They ascended the steps, and entered a large room, sur- 
rounded on three sides by black-boards. The floor was 
covered with white matting, and the walls hung with very 
pretty pictures of French lithographs, tastefully colored. 
In some places cards were hung up, bearing quotations of 
scripture. There were rows of neat desks, before each of 
which there was a little chair. 

Anne stepped to the door and rang a bell, and in about 
ten minutes the patter of innumerable little feet was heard 
ascending the steps, and presently they came streaming in — 
all ages, from four or five to fifteen, and from the ebony 
complexion of the negro, with its closely-curling wool, to 
the rich brown cheek of the quadroon, with melancholy lus- 
trous eyes, and waving hair. All were dressed alike, in a 
neat uniform of some kind of blue stuff, with white capes 
and aprons. 

They filed in to the tune of one of those marked rhythmical 
melodies which characterize the negro music, and, moving 
in exact time to the singing, assumed their seats, which 
were arranged with regard to their age and size. As soon 
as they were seated, Anne, after a moment’s pause, clapped 
her hands, and the whole school commenced a morning 
hymn, in four parts, which was sung so beautifully that 
Mr Bradshaw, quite overpowered, stood with tears in his 
eyes. Anne nodded at Nina, and cast on him a satisfied 
glance. 

After that, there was a rapid review of the classes. 
There was reading, spelling, writing on the black-board, 
and the smaller ones were formed in groups in two adjoin- 


58 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


ing apartments, under the care of some of the older girls. 
Anne walked about superintending the whole ; and Nina, 
who saw the scene for the first time, could not repress her 
exclamation of delight. The scholars were evidently ani- 
mated by the presence of company, and anxious to do credit 
to the school and teacher, and the two hours passed rapidly 
away. Anne exhibited to Mr. Bradshaw specimens of the 
proficiency of her scholars in hand-writing, and the drawing 
of maps, and even the copying of small lithograph cards, 
which contained a series of simple drawing-patterns. Mr. 
Bradshaw seemed filled with astonishment. 

“ ’Pon my word,” said he, “ these are surprising ! Miss 
Anne, you are a veritable magician — a worker of miracles ! 
You must have found Aaron’s rod, again ! My dear madam, 
you run the risk of being burned for a witch ! ” 

“ Very few, Mr. Bradshaw, know how much of beauty lies 
sealed up in this neglected race,” said Anne, with enthu- 
siasm. 

As they were walking back to the house, Mr. Bradshaw 
fell a little behind, and his face wore a thoughtful and almost 
sad expression. 

‘‘Well,” said Anne, looking round, “a penny for your 
thoughts ! ” 

“ 0, I see, Miss Anne, you are for pursuing your advan- 
tage. I see triumph in your eyes. But yet,” he added, 
“ after all this display, the capability of your children makes 
me feel sad. To what end is it ? What purpose will it 
serve, except to unfit them for their inevitable condition — 
to make them discontented and unhappy ? ” 

“Well,” replied Anne, “ there ought to be no inevitable 
condition that makes it necessary to dwarf a human mind. 
Any condition which makes a full development of the powers 
that God has given us a misfortune, cannot, certainly, be a 
healthy one — cannot be right. If a mind will grow and 
rise, make way and let it. Make room for it, and cut down 
everything that stands in the way ! ” 

“That’s terribly levelling doctrine, Miss Anne.” 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


59 


u Let it level, then ! ” said Anne. “ I don’t care ! I come 
from the old Virginia cavalier blood, and am not afraid of 
anything.” 

“ But, Miss Anne, how do you account for it that the 
best-educated and best-treated slaves — in fact, as you say, 
the most perfectly-developed human beings — were those 
who got up the insurrection in Charleston ? ” 

“ How do you account for it,” said Anne, “ that the best- 
developed and finest specimens of men have been those 
that have got up insurrections in Italy, Austria, and Hun- 
gary ? ” 

“ Well, you admit, then,” said Mr. Bradshaw, “ that if you 
say A in this matter, you ’ve got to say B.” 

“Certainly,” said xVnne, “and when the time comes to 
say B, I ’m ready to say it. I admit, Mr. Bradshaw, it ’s a 
very dangerous thing to get up steam, if you don’t intend 
to let the boat go. But when the steam is high enough, let 
her go, say I.” 

“ Yes, but, Miss Anne, other people don’t want to say 
so. The fact is, we are not all of us ready to let the boat 
go. It ’s got all our property in it — all we have to live on. 
If you are willing yourself, so far as your people are con- 
cerned, they ’ll inevitably want liberty, and you say you ’ll 
be ready to give it to them ; but your fires will raise a 
steam on our plantations, and we must shut down these 
escape-valves. Don’t you see ? Now, for my part, I ’ve been 
perfectly charmed with this school of yours ; but, after all, 
I can’t help inquiring whereto it will grow.” 

“ Well, Mr. Bradshaw,” said Anne, “I’m obliged to you 
for the frankness of this conversation. It ’s very friendly 
and sincere. I think, however, I shall continue to compli- 
ment the good sense and gallantry of this state, by ignoring 
its unworthy and unchristian laws. I will endeavor, never- 
theless, to be more careful and guarded as to the manner of 
what I do ; but, if I should be put into the penitentiary, 
Mr. Bradshaw, I hope you ’ll call on me.” 
u. 6 


60 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


“ Miss Anne, I beg ten thousand pardons for that unfor- 
tunate allusion.” 

“I think,” said Anne, “ I shall impose it as a penance 
upon you to stay and spend the day with us, and then I ’ll 
show you my rose-garden. I have great counsel to hold 
with you on the training of a certain pillar-rose. You see, 
my design is to get you involved in my treason. You ’ve 
already come into complicity with it, by visiting my school.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Anne, I should be only too much 
honored to be your abettor in any treason you might med- 
itate. But, really, I ’m a most unlucky dog 1 Think of my 
having four bachelor friends engaged to dine with me, and 
so being obliged to decline your tempting offer ! In fact, I 
must take horse before the sun gets any hotter.” 

“ There he goes, for a good-hearted creature as he is ! ” 
said Anne. 

“Do you know,” said Nina, laughing, “that I thought 
that he was some poor, desperate mortal, who was on the 
verge of a proposal, this morning, and I ran away like a 
good girl, to give him a fair field ? ” 

“Child,” said Anne, “you are altogether too late in the 
day. Mr. Bradshaw and I walked that little figure some time 
ago, and now he is one of the most convenient and agreea- 
ble of friends.” 

“ Anne, why in the world don’t you get in love with 
somebody ? ” said Nina. 

“My dear, I think there was something or other left out 
when I was made up,” said Anne, laughing, “ but I never 
had much of a fancy for the lords of creation. They do 
tolerably well till they come to be lovers ; but then they are 
perfectly unbearable. Lions in love, my dear, don’t appear 
to advantage, you know. I can’t marry papa or Edward, 
and they have spoiled me for everybody else. Besides, I ’m 
happy, and what do I want of any of them ? Can’t there 
be now and then a woman sufficient to herself? But, Nina, 
dear, I ’m sorry that our affairs here are giving offence and 
making uneasiness.” 


MAGNOLIA GKOVE. 


61 


“For my part,” said Nina, “I should go right on. I 
Lave noticed that people try all they can to stop a person 
who is taking an unusual course ; and when they are per- 
fectly certain that they can't stop them, then they turn 
round and fall in with them ; and I think that will be the 
case with you.” 

“ They certainly will have an opportunity of trying,” 
said Anne. “ But there is Dulcimer coming up the avenue 
with the letter-bag. Now, child, I don’t believe you appre- 
ciate half my excellence, when you consider that I used to 
have all these letters that fall to you every mail.” 

At this moment Dulcimer rode up to the veranda steps, 
and deposited the letter-bag in Anne’s hands. 

“ What an odd name you have g i# ven him 1 ” saia Nina, 
“ and what a comical-looking fellow he is ! He has a SGrt 
of waggish air that reminds me of a crow.” 

“ 0, Dulcimer don’t belong to our r%-*me,” said Anne. 
“ He was the prime minis r and favorite under the former 
reign, — a sort of licensed court jester, — and to this day 
he hardly knows how to do any*ningbut sing and dance ; and 
so brother, who is for allowing the larges 1 . liberty to every- 
body, imposes on him only such general and light tasks as 
suit his roving nature. But there • ” she said, throwing a 
letter on Nina’s lap, and at the same time breaking the seal 
of one directed to herself. “Ah, I thought so! You see, 
puss, Edward has some law business that takes him to this 
part of the state forthwith. Was ever such convenient law 
business ? We may look for him to-night. Now there will 
be rejoicings ! How now, Dulcimer ? 1 thought you had 

gone,” she said, looking up, and observing that personage 
still lingering in the shade of a tulip-tree near the veranda. 

“ Please, Miss Anne, is Master Clayton coming home to- 
night ? ” 

“ Yes, Dulcimer ; so now go and spread the news ; for 
that ’s what you want, I know.” 

And Dulcimer, needing no second suggestion, was out of 
sight in the shrubbery in a few moments. 


62 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


“ Now, I ’ll wager,” said Anne, 11 that creature will get 
up something or other extraordinary for this evening.” 

“ Such as what ? ” said Nina. 

“ Well, he is something of a troubadour, and I should n’t 
wonder if he should be cudgelling his brain at this moment 
for a song. We shall have some kind of operatic perform- 
ance, you may be sure.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE TROUBADOUR. 

About five o’clock in the evening, Nina and Anne amused 
themselves with setting a fancy tea-table on the veranda. 
Nina had gathered a quantity of the leaves of the live oak, 
which she possessed a particular faculty of plaiting in long, 
flat wreaths, and with these she garlanded the social round 
table, after it had been draped in its snowy damask, while 
Anne was busy arranging fruit in dishes with vine-leaves. 

“ Lettice will be in despair, to-night,” said Anne, look- 
ing up, and smiling at a neatly-dressed brown mulatto girl, 
who stood looking on with large, lustrous eyes ; “ her occu- 
pation ’s gone 1 ” 

“ 0, Lettice must allow me to show my accomplish- 
ments,” said Nina. “ There are some household arts that 
I have quite a talent for. If I had lived in what-’s-its-name, 
there, that they used to tell about in old times — Arcadia — 
I should have made a good housekeeper ; for nothing suits 
me better than making wreaths, and arranging bouquets. 
My nature is dressy. I want to dress everything. I want 
to dress tables, and dress vases, and adorn dishes, and dress 
handsome women, Anne ! So look out for yourself, for 
when I have done crowning the table, I shall crown you ! ” 

As Nina talked, she was flitting hither and thither, taking 
up and laying down flowers and leaves, shaking out long 
sprays, and fluttering from place to place, like a bird. 

“It’s a pity,” said Anne, “that life can’t be all Ar- 
cadia ! ” 

“ 0, yes ! ” said Nina. “ When I was a child, I remem- 
ii. 6* 


64 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


ber there was an old torn translation of a book called Ges* 
ner’s Idyls, that used to lie about the house ; and I used to 
read in it most charming little stories about handsome shep- 
herds, dressed in white, playing on silver and ivory flutes ; 
and shepherdesses, with azure mantles and floating hair ; 
and people living on such delightful things as cool curds and 
milk, and grhpes, and strawberries, and peaches ; and there 
was no labor, and no trouble, and no dirt, and no care. 
Everybody lived like the flowers and the birds, — growing, 
and singing, and being beautiful. Ah, dear, I have never 
got over wanting it since 1 Why could n’t it be so ? ” 

“ It ’s a thousand pities ! ” said Anne. “ But what con* 
stant fight we have to maintain for order and beauty 1 99 

“ Yes,” said Nina ; “ and, what seems worse, beauty it- 
self becomes dirt in a day. Now, these roses that we are 
arranging, to-morrow or next day we shall call them litter, 
and wish somebody would sweep them out of the way. 
But I never want to be the one to do that. I want some 
one to carry away the withered flowers, and wash the soiled 
vases ; but I want to be the one to cut the fresh roses every 
day. If I were in an association, I should take that for my 
part. I ’d arrange all their flowers through the establish- 
ment, but I should stipulate expressly that I should do no 
clearing up.” 

“ Well,” said Anne, “ it ’s really a mystery to me what a 
constant downward tendency there is to everything — how 
everything is gravitating back, as you may say, into dis- 
order. Now, I think a cleanly, sweet, tasteful house — and, 
above all, table — are among the highest works of art. And 
yet, how everything attacks you when you set out to attain 
it — flies, cockroaches, ants, mosquitos ! And, then, it seems 
to be the fate of all human beings, that they are constantly 
wearing out and disarranging and destroying all that is 
about them.” 

“Yes,” said Nina, “I couldn’t help thinking of that 
when we were at the camp-meeting. The first day, I was 
perfectly charmed. Everything was so fresh, so cool, so 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


65 


dewy and sweet ; but, by the end of the second day, they 
had thrown egg-shells, and pea-pods, and melon-rinds, and 
all sorts of abominations, around among the tents, and it 
was really shocking to contemplate.” 

“ How disgusting ! ” said Anne. 

“ Now, I ’m one of that sort,” said Nina, “ that love order 
dearly, but don’t want the trouble of it myself. My prime 
minister, Aunt Katy, thanks to mamma, is an excellent hand 
to keep it, and I encourage her in it with all my heart ; so 
that any part of the house where I don’t go much is in 
beautiful order. But, bless me, I should have to be made 
over again before I could do like Aunt Nesbit ! Bid you 
ever see her take a pair of gloves or a collar out of a drawer ? 
She gets up, and walks so moderately across the room, takes 
the key from under the napkin on the right-hand side of the 
bureau, and unlocks the drawer, as gravely as though she 
was going to offer a sacrifice. Then, if her gloves are the 
back side, underneath something else, she takes out one 
thing after another, so moderately; and then, when the 
gloves or collar are found, lays everything back exactly 
where it was before, locks the drawer, and puts the key 
back under the towel. And all this she ’d do if anybody 
was dying, and she had to go for the doctor ! The conse- 
quence is, that her room, her drawers, and everything, are 
a standing sermon to me. But 1 think I ’ve got to be a 
much calmer person than I am, before this will come to 
pass in my case. I ’m always in such a breeze and flutter ! 
I fly to my drawer, and scatter things into little whirlwinds ; 
ribbons, scarf, flowers — everything flies out in a perfect 
rainbow. It seems as if I should die if I did n’t get the 
thing I wanted that minute ; and, after two or three such 
attacks on a drawer, then comes repentance, and a long 
time of rolling up and arranging, and talking to little 
naughty Nina, who always promises herself to keep better 
order in future. But, my dear, she does n’t do it, I ’m sorry 
to say, as yet, though perhaps there are hopes of her in 
future. Tell me, Anne, — you are not stiff and ‘ poky ,’ and 


66 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


yet you seem to be endowed with the gift o f order. How 
did it come about ? ” 

“ It was not natural to me, I assure you,” said Anne 
** It was a second nature, drilled into me by mamma.” 

“Mamma! ah, indeed!” said Nina, giving a sigh. 
“ Then you arp very happy ! But, come, now, Lettice, I ’ve 
done with all these ; take them away. My tea-table has 
risen out of them like the world out of chaos,” she said, as 
she swept together a heap of rejected vines, leaves, and 
flowers. “ Ah ! I always have a repenting turn, when I ’ve 
done arranging vases, to think I ’ve picked so many more 
than were necessary ! The poor flowers droop their leaves, 
and look at me reproachfully, as if they said, * You did n’t 
want us — why could n’t you have left us alone ? ’ ” 

“ 0,” said Anne, “Lettice will relieve you of that. She 
has great talents in the floral line, and out of these she will 
arrange quantities of bouquets,” she said, as Lettice, blush- 
ing perceptibly through her brown skin, stooped and swept 
up the rejected flowers into her apron. 

“ What have we here ? ” said Anne, as Dulcimer, attired 
with most unusual care, came bowing up the steps, present- 
ing a note op, a waiter. “ Dear me, how stylish ! gilt-edged 
paper, smelling of myrrh and ambergris ! ” she continued, 
as she broke the seal. “ What ’s this ? 

“ ' The Magnolia Grove troubadours request the presence 
of Mr. and Miss Clayton and Miss Gordon at an operatic 
performance, which will be given this evening, at eight 
o’clock, in the grove.’ 

“Very well done! I fancy some of my scholars have 
been busy with the writing. Dulcimer, we shall be happy 
to come.” 

“ Where upon earth did he pick up those phrases ? ” said 
Nina, when he had departed. 

“ 0,” said Anne, “ I told you that he was prime favorite 
of the former proprietor, who used to take him with him 


THE TROUBADOtfR. 


67 


wherever he travelled, as people sometimes will a pet mon- 
key; and, I dare say, he has lounged round the* lobbies 
of many an opera-house. I told you that he was going to 
get up something.” 

“ What a delightful creature he must be ! ” said Nina. 

“ Perhaps so, to you,” said Anne ; “but he is a trouble- 
some person to manage. He is as wholly destitute of any 
moral organs as a jackdaw. One sometimes questions 
whether these creatures have any more than a reflected 
mimicry of a human soul — such as the German stories im- 
agine in Cobolds and water spirits. All I can see in Dulci- 
mer is a kind of fun-loving animal. He don’t seem to have 
any moral nature.” 

“Perhaps,” said Nina, “his moral nature is something 
like the cypress-vine seeds which I planted three months 
ago, and which have just come up.” 

“Well,' I believe Edward expects to see it along, one of 
these days,” said Anne. “ His faith in human nature is 
unbounded. I think it one of his foibles, for my part ; 
but yet I try to have hopes of Dulcimer, that some day oi 
other he will have some glimmering perceptions of the dif- 
ference between a lie and the truth, and between his own 
things and other people’s. At present, he is the most law- 
less marauder on the place. He has been so used to having 
his wit to cover a multitude of sins, that it ’s difficult for a 
scolding to make any impression on him. But, hark ! is n’t 
that a horse ? Somebody is coming up the avenue.’’ 

Both listened. 

“ There are two,” said Nina. 

Just at this instant Clayton emerged to view, accompa- 
nied by another rider, who, on nearer view, turned out to be 
Frank Russel. At the same instant, the sound of violins 
and banjos was heard, and, to Anne’s surprise, a gayly- 
dressed procession of servants and children began to file 
out from the grove, headed by Dulcimer and several of his 
associates, playing and singing. 


68 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


“ There,” said Anne, “ did n’t I tell you sc ? There ’s tho 
beginning of Dulcimer’s operations.” 

The air was one of those inexpressibly odd ones whose 
sharp, metallic accuracy of rhythm seems to mark the de- 
light which the negro race feel in that particular element of 
music. The words, as usual, amounted to very little. Nina 
and Anne could hear, 

“ 0, I see de mas’r a cornin’ up de track, 

His horse’s heels do clatter, with a clack, clack, clack ! ” 

The idea conveyed in these lines being still further carried 
out by the regular clapping of hands at every accented 
note, while every voice joined in the chorus : 

u Sing, boys, sing ; de mas’r is come ! 

Give three cheers for de good man at home ! 

Ho ! ho ! ho ! Hurra ! hurra ! ” 

Clayton acknowledged the compliment, as he came up, by 
bowing from his horse ; and the procession arranged itself 
in a kind of lane, through which he and his companion rode 
up to the veranda. 

“ ’Pon my word,” said Frank Russel, “ I was n’t prepared 
for such a demonstration. Quite a presidential reception I ” 

When Clayton came to the steps and dismounted, a dozen 
sprang eagerly forward to take his horse, and in the crowd- 
ing round for a word of recognition the order of the pro- 
cession was entirely broken. After many kind words, and 
inquiries in every direction for a few moments, the people 
quietly retired, leaving their master to his own enjoyments. 

“You really have made quite a triumphal entry,” said 
Nina. 

“ Dulcimer always exhausts himself on all such occa- 
sions,” said Anne, “ so that he is n’t capable of any further 
virtue for two or three weeks.” 

“Well, take him while he is in flower, then ! ” said Rus- 
sel. “But how perfectly cool and inviting you look! 


TH1D TROUBADOUR. 


6D 

Really, quite idyllic I We must certainly have got into a 
fairy queen’s castle ! ” 

“ But you must show us somewhere to shake the dust off 
of our feet,” said Clayton. 

♦ “ Yes,” said Anne, “ there ’s Aunt Praw waiting to show 
you your room. Go and make yourselves as fascinating as 
you can.” 

In a little while the gentlemen returned, in fresh white 
linen suits, and the business of the tea-table proceeded with 
alacrity. 

“ Well, now,” said Anne, after tea, looking at her watch, 
“ I must inform the company that we are all engaged to the 
opera this evening.” 

“ Yes,” said Nina, “ the Magnolia Grove Opera House is 
to be opened, and the Magnolia Troubadour Troupe to ap- 
pear for the first time.” 

At this moment they were surprised by the appearance, 
below the veranda, of Dulcimer, with three of his colored 
associates, all wearing white ribbons in their button-holes, 
and carrying white wands tied with satin ribbon, and 
gravely arranging themselves two and two on each side of 
the steps. 

“ Why, Dulcimer, what ’s this ? said Clayton. 

Dulcimer bowed with the gravity of a raven, and an- 
nounced that the committee had come to wait on the gen- 
tlemen and ladies to their seats. 

“ 0,” said Anne, "we were not prepared for our part of 
the play 1 ” 

“ What a pity I did n’t bring my opera-hat 1 ” said Nina. 
“ Never mind,” she said, snatching a spray of multiflora 
rose, “ this will do.” And she gave it one twist round her 
head, and her toilet was complete. 

“ ’Pon my word, that ’s soon done ! ” said Frank Russel, 
as he watched the coronet of half-opened buds and roses. 

“Yes,” said Nina. “Sit down, Anne ; I forgot your 
crown. There, wait a moment ; let me turn this leaf a lit 


TO 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


tie, and weave these buds in here — so. Now you are a 
Baltimore belle, to be sure I Now for the procession.” 

The opera-house for the evening, was an open space in 
the grove behind the house. Lamps had been hung up 
in the trees, twinkling on the glossy foliage. A sort of 
booth or arbor was built of flowers and leaves at one end, 
to which the party were marshalled in great state. Be- 
tween two magnolia-trees a white curtain was hung up ; 
and the moment the family party made their appearance, a 
chorus of voices from behind the scenes began an animated 
song of welcome. 

As soon as the party was seated, the curtain rose, and 
the chorus, consisting of about thirty of the best singers, 
males and females, came forward, dressed in their best 
holiday costume, singing, and keeping step as they sung, 
and bearing in their hands bouquets, which, as they marched 
round the circle, they threw at the feet of the company. A 
wreath of orange-blossoms was significantly directed at 
Nina, and fell right into her lap. 

“ These people seem to have had their eyes open. Com- 
ing events cast their shadows before ! ” said Russel. 

After walking around, the chorus seated themselves at the 
side of the area, and the space behind was filled up with a 
dense sea of heads — all the servants and plantation hands. 

“ I declare,” said Russel, looking round on the crowd of 
dark faces, “ this sable crowd is turning a silver lining with a 
witness ! How neat and pretty that row of children look ! ” 
' And, as they spoke, a procession of the children of Anne’s 
school came filing round in the same manner that the other 
had done, singing their school-songs, and casting flowers 
before the company. After this, they seated themselves on 
low seats in front of all the others. 

Dulcimer and four of his companions now came into the 
centre. 

“ There,” said Anne, “ Dulcimer is going to be the centre 
piece. He is the tioubadour.” 

Dulcimer, in fact, commenced a kind of recitative, to the 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


71 


tune “ Mas’r ’s in the cold, cold ground. ” After singing 
a few lines, the quartet took up the chorus, and their voices 
were really magnificent. 

“ Why,” said Nina, “it seems to me they are beginning 
in a very doleful way.” 

“ 0,” said Anne, “ wait a minute. This is the old mas’r, 

I fancy. We shall soon hear the tune changed.” 

And accordingly, Dulcimer, striking into a new tune, be- 
gan to rehearse the coming in of a new master. 

“ There,” said Anne, “now for a catalogue of Edward's 
virtues ! They must be all got in, rhyme or no rhyme.” 

Dulcimer kept on rehearsing. Every four lines, the 
quartet struck in with the chorus, which was then repeated 
by the whole company, clapping their hands and stamping 
their feet to the time, with great vivacity. 

“ Now, Anne, is coming your turn,” said Nina, as Dulci- 
mer launched out, in most high-flown strains, on the beauty 
of Miss Anne. 

“Yes,” said Clayton, “the catalogue of your virtues 
will be somewhat extensive.” 

“ I shall escape, at any rate,” said Nina. 

“Don’t you be too sure,” said Anne. “Dulcimer has 
had his eye on you ever since you ’ve been here.” 

And true enough, after the next stanza, Dulcimer assumed 
a peculiarly meaning expression. 

“There,” said Anne, “do see the wretch flirting him- 
self out like a saucy crow I It ’s coming ! Now look out, 
Nina ! ” 

With a waggish expression from the corner of his down- 
cast eyes, he sung, 

i 

« 0, mas’r is often absent — do you know where he goes? 

He goes to North Carolina, for de North Carolina rose.” 

“ There you are ! ” said Frank Russel. “ Do you see the 
grin going round ? What a lot of ivory 1 They are com- 
ing in this chorus, strong I ” 
n. -t 


72 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


And the whole assembly, with great animation, ;jOlL ,d 
out on the chorus : 

“ 0, de North Carolina rose ! 

0, de North Carolina rose ! 

We wish good luck to mas’r, 

With de North Carolina rose ! w 

This chorus was repeated with enthusiasm, clapping of 
hands, and laughing. 

** I think the North Carolina rose ought to rise ! ” said 
.Russel. 

“ 0, hush ! ” said Anne ; “ Dulcimer has n’t done yet.” 

Assuming an attitude, Dulcimer turned and sang to one 
of his associates in the quartet, 

“ 0, I see two stars a rising, 

Up in de shady skies ! ” 


To which the other responded, with animation : 

“ No, boy, you are mistaken ; 

’T is de light of her fair eyes ! n 

“ That ’s thorough, at any rate I ” said Russel. 

While Dulcimer went on : 

“ 0, I see two roses blowing, 

Togeder on one bed ! 

And the other responded : 

“ No, boy, you are mistaken ; 

Dem are her cheeks so red ! ” 

“ And they are getting redder!” said Anne, tapping 
Nina with her fan. “ Dulcimer is evidently laying out his 
strength upon you, Nina ! ” 

Dulcimer went on singing : 


“ 0, I see a grape-vine running, 
With its ourly rings, up dere 1 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


*3 


And the response, 

“ No, boy, you are mistaken ; 

’T is her rings of curly hair ! n 


And the quartet here struck up : 


“ O, she walks on de veranda, 

And she laughs out of de door, 

And she dances like de sunshine 
Across de parlor floor. 

Her little feet, dey patter, 

Like de rain upon de flowers ; 

And her laugh is like sweet waters, 

Through all de summer hours ! ” 

“ Dulcimer has had help from some of the muses along 
there ! ” said Clayton, looking at Anne. 

“ Hush ! ” said Anne ; “ hear the chorus. ” 

u 0, de North Carolina rose ! 

0, de North Carolina rose ! 

0, plant by our veranda 
De North Carolina rose !” 

This chorus was repeated with three times three, and the 
whole assembly broke into a general laugh, when the per- 
formers bowed and retired, and the white sheet, which was 
fastened by a pulley to the limb of a tree, was let down 
again. 

“ Come, now, Anne, confess that was n’t all Dulcimer’s 
work ! ” said Clayton. 

“ Well, to tell the truth,” said Anne, “ ’t was got up be- 
tween him and Lettice, who has a natural turn for versify- 
ing, quite extraordinary. If I chose to encourage and push 
her on, she might turn out a second Phillis Wheatly.” 

Dulcimer and his coadjutors now came round, bearing 
trays with lemonade, cake, sliced pine-apples, and some 
other fruits. 

“ Well, on my word,” said Russel, “ this is quite prettily 
got up ! ” 

tl 0, I think,” said Clayton, “ the African race evidently 


u 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


are made to excel in that department which lies between 
the sensuous and the intellectual — what we call the elegant 
arts. These require rich and abundant animal nature, such 
as they possess ; and, if ever they become highly civilized, 
they will excel in music, dancing, and elocution.” 

“ I have often noticed,” said Anne, “ in my scholars, 
how readily they seize upon anything which pertains to the 
department of music and language. The negroes are some- 
times laughed at for mispronouncing words, which they 
will do in a very droll manner ; but it ’s only because they 
are so taken with the sounds of words that they will try to 
pronounce beyond the sphere of their understanding, like 
bright children.” 

“ Some of these voices here are perfectly splendid,” said 
Russel. 

“ Yes,” said Anne, "we have one or two girls on the 
place who have that rich contralto voice which, I think, is 
oftener to be found among them than among whites.” 

“ The Ethiopian race is a slow-growing plant, like the 
aloe,” said Clayton ; “ but I hope, some of these days, 
they ’ll come into flower ; and I think, if they ever do, the 
blossoming will be gorgeous.” 

“ That will do for a poet’s expectation,” said Russel. 

The performance now gave place to a regular dancing- 
party, which went on with great animation, yet decorum. 

“ Religious people,” said Clayton, “ who have instructed 
the negroes, I think have wasted a great deal of their 
energy in persuading them to give up dancing and singing 
songs. I try to regulate the propensity. There is no use 
in trying to make the negroes into Anglo-Saxons, any more 
than making a grape-vine into a pear-tree. I train the 
grape-vine.” 

“ Behold,” said Russel, “ the successful champion of 
negro rights ! ” 

“ Not so very successful,” said Clayton. “I suppose 
you ’ve heard my case has been appealed ; so that my victory 
isn’t so certain, after all.” 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


75 


“ 0,” said Nina, “ yes, it must be ! 1 7 m sure no person 

of common sense would decide any other way ; and your 
own father is one of the judges, too.” 

“ That will only make him the more careful *not to be in- 
fluenced in my favor,” said Clayton. 

The dancing now broke up, and the servants dispersed 
in an orderly manner, and the company returned to the 
veranda, which lay pleasantly checkered with the light of 
the moon falling through trailing vines. The air was full 
of those occasional pulsations of fragrance which rise in the 
evening from flowers. 

“ 0, how delightful,” said Nina, “ this fragrance of the 
honeysuckles ! I have a perfect passion for perfumes ! 
They seem to me like spirits in the air.” 

“ Yes,” said Clayton, “ Lord Bacon says, * that the 
breath of flowers comes and goes in the air, like the war- 
bling of music. 7 77 

“Did Lord Bacon say that? 77 said Nina, in a tone of 
surprise. 

“ Yes ; why not? 77 said Clayton. 

“ 0, I thought he was one of those musty old philoso- 
phers, who never thought of anything pretty ! 77 

“ Well, 77 said Clayton, “ then to-morrow let me read you 
hiS essay on gardens, and you 7 11 find musty old philoso- 
phers often do think of pretty things. 77 

“ It was Lord Bacon, 77 said Anne, “ who always wanted 
musicians playing in the next room while he was com- 
posing. 77 # 

“ He did ? 77 said Nina. “ Why, how delightful of him ! 
I think I should like to hear some of his essays. 77 

“ There are some minds, 77 said Clayton, “ large enough 
to take in everything. Such men can talk as prettily of a 
ring on a lady 7 s finger, as they can wisely on the courses 
of the planets. Nothing escapes them. 77 

“ That 7 s the kind of man you ought to have for a lover, 
Anne, 77 said Nina, laughing; “you have weight enough 
to risk it. 1 7 m such a little whisk of thistle-down that it 
7 * 


u. 


76 


THE TROUBADOUR. 


would annihilate me. Such a ponderous weight of wisdom 
attached to me would drag me under water, and drown 
me. I should let go my line, I think, if I felt such a fish 
bite.” 

“You are tolerably safe in our times,” said Clayton. 
“ Nature only sends such men once in a century or two. 
They are the road-makers for the rest of the world. They 
are quarry-masters, that quarry out marble enough for a 
generation to work up.” 

“ Well,” said Nina, “ I should n’t want to be a quarry- 
master’s wife. I should be afraid that some of his blocks 
would fall on me.” 

“ Why, would n’t you like it, if he were wholly your 
slave ? ” said Frank Russel. “ It would be like having the 
genius of the lamp at your feet.” 

“ Ah,” said Nina, “ if I could keep him my slave ; but 
I’m afraid he ’d outwit me at last. Such a man would soon 
put me up on a shelf for a book read through. I ’ve seen 
some great men, — I mean great for our times, — and they 
did n’t seem to care half as much for their wives as they did 
for a newspaper.” 

“0,” said Anne, “that’s past praying for, with any 
husband. The newspaper is the standing rival of the 
American lady. It must be a warm lover that can *be 
attracted from that, even before he is secure of his prize.” 

“ You are severe, Miss Anne,” said Russel. 

“ She only speaks the truth. You men are a bad set,” 
said Nina. “You are a kind of necessary evil, half civil- 
ized at best. But if ever I set up an establishment, I shall 
insist upon taking precedence of the newspaper.” 


CHAPTER 711. 


tiff’s garden. 

Would the limits of our story admit of it, we should 
gladly linger many days in the shady precincts of Magnolia 
Grove, where Clayton and Nina remained some days 
longer, and where the hours flew by on flowery feet ; but 
the inevitable time and tide, which wait for no man, wait 
not for the narrator. We must therefore say, in brief, that 
when the visit was concluded, Clayton accompanied Nina 
once more to Canema, and returned to the circle of his own 
duties. 

Nina returned to her own estate, with views somewhat 
chastened and modified by her acquaintance with Anne. As 
Clayton supposed, the influence of a real noble purpose in life 
had proved of more weight than exhortations, and she began 
to feel within herself positive aspirations for some more 
noble and worthy life than she had heretofore led. That 
great, absorbing feeling which determines the whole destiny 
of woman’s existence, is in its own nature an elevating and 
purifying one. It is such even when placed on an unworthy 
object, and much more so when the object is a worthy one. 
Since the first of their friendship, Clayton had never offi- 
ciously sought to interfere with the growth and develop- 
ment of Nina’s moral nature. He had sufficient sagacity 
to perceive that, unconsciously to herself, a deeper power 
of feeling, and a wider range of thought, was opening with- 
in her ; and he left the development of it to the same quiet 
forces which swell the rosebud and guide the climbing 
path of the vine. Simply and absolutely he lived his own 


78 


tiff’s garden. 


life before her, and let hers alone ; and the power of his life 
therefore became absolute. 

A few mornings after her return, she thought that she would 
go out and inquire after the welfare of our old friend Tiff. 
It was a hazy, warm, bright summer morning, and all things 
lay in that dreamy stillness, that trance of voluptuous rest, 
which precedes the approach of the fiercer heats of the day. 
Since her absence there had been evident improvement in 
Tiffs affairs. The baby, a hearty, handsome little fellow, 
by dint of good nursing, pork-sucking, and lying out doors 
in the tending of breezes and zephyrs, had grown to be a 
creeping creature, and followed Tiff around, in his garden 
ministrations, with unintelligible chatte rings of delight. 

At the moment when Nina rode up, Tiff was busy with 
his morning work in the garden. 

His appearance, it is to be confessed, was somewhat 
peculiar. He usually wore, in compliment to his nursing 
duties, an apron in front ; but, as his various avocations 
pressed hard upon his time, and as his own personal outfit 
was ever the last to be attended to, Tiff’s nether garments 
had shown traces of that frailty which is incident to all 
human things. 

“ Bress me,” he said to himself, that morning, as he with 
difficulty engineered his way into them, “ holes here, and 
holes dar ! Don’t want but two holes in my breeches, and 
I ’s got two dozen ! Got my foot through de wrong place ! 
Por old Tiff! Laws a massy ! wish I could get hold of some 
of dem dar clothes dey were telling ’bout at de camp-meet- 
ing, dey wore forty years in de wilderness ! ’Mazing handy 
dem ar times was ! Well, any how, I ’ll tie an apron behind, 
and anoder in front. Bress de Lord, I ’s got aprons, any 
how ! I must make up a par of breeches, some of dese 
yer days, when de baby’s teeth is all through, and Teddy’s 
clothes don’t want no mending, and de washing is done, 
and dese yer weeds stops a growing in de garden. Bress 
if I know what de Lord want of so many weeds. ’Pears 
like dey comes just to plague us ; but, den, we does n’t 


tiff’s garden. 


79 


know. May be dere’s some good in ’em. We does n’t 
know but a leetle, no way.” 

Tiff was sitting on the ground weeding one of his garden- 
beds, when he was surprised by the apparition of Nina on 
horseback coming up to the gate. Here was a dilemma, to 
be sure 1 No cavalier had a more absolute conception of 
the nature of politeness, and the claims of beauty, rank, 
and fashion, than Tiff. Then, to be caught sitting on the 
ground, with a blue apron on in front, and a red one on 
behind, was an appalling dilemma ! However, as our read- 
ers may have discovered, Tiff had that essential requisite of 
good breeding, the moral courage to face an exigency ; and, 
wisely considering that a want of cordiality 'is a greater 
deficiency than the want of costume, he rose up, without 
delay, and hastened to the gate to acknowledge the honor. 

“ Lord bress yer sweet face, Miss Nina ! ” he said, while 
the breezes flapped and fluttered his red and blue sails, 
“ Old Tiff’s ’mazin’ happy to see you. Miss Fanny’s well, 
thank ye ; and Mas’r Teddy and the baby all doing nicely. 
Bress de Lord, Miss Nina, be so good as to get down and 
come in. I ’s got some nice berries dat I picked in de 
swamp, and Miss Fanny ’ll be proud to have you take 
some. You see,” he said, laughing heartily, and regarding 
his peculiar costume, “ I was n’t looking for any quality 
long dis yer time o’ day, so I just got on my old clothes.” 

“ Why, Uncle Tiff, I think they become you immensely ! ” 
said Nina. “ Your outfit is really original and picturesque. 
You’re not one of the people that are ashamed of their 
work, are you, Uncle Tiff? So, if you just lead my horse to 
that stump, I ’ll get down.” 

“Laws, no, Miss Nina!” said Tiff, as with alacrity he 
obeyed her orders. “ Spects, if Old Tiff was ’shamed of 
work, he ’d have a heap to be ’shamed of ; cause it ’s pretty 
much all work with him. ’T is so ! ” 

“ Tomtit pretended to come with me,” said Nina, as she 
looked round ; “ but he lagged behind by the brook to get 
some of those green grapes, and I suspect it ’s the last I 


80 


TIFFS GARDEN. 


shall see of him. So, Tiff, if you please to tie Sylphine in 
the shade, I ’ll go in to see Miss Fanny. ” 

And Nina tripped lightly up the walk, now bordered on 
either side by china asters and marigolds, to where Fanny 
was standing bashfully in the door waiting for her. In her 
own native woods this child was one of the boldest, freest, 
and happiest of romps. There was scarce an eligible tree 
which she could not climb, or a thicket she had not ex- 
plored. She was familiar with every flower, every bird, 
every butterfly, of the vicinity. She knew precisely when 
every kind of fruit would ripen, and flower would blossom ; 
and was so au fait in the language of birds and squirrels, 
that she might almost have been considered one of the fra- 
ternity. Her only companion and attendant, Old Tiff, had 
that quaint, fanciful, grotesque nature which is the furthest 
possible removed from vulgarity ; and his frequent lectures 
on proprieties and conventionalities, his long and prolix 
narrations of her ancestral glories and distinctions, had suc- 
ceeded in infusing into her a sort of childish consciousness 
of dignity, while at the same time it inspired her with a 
bashful awe of those whom she saw surrounded with the 
actual insignia and circumstances of position and fortune. 
A^ter all, Tiff’s method of education, instinctive as it was, 
was highly philosophical, since a certain degree of self- 
respect is the nurse of many virtues, and a shield from 
many temptations. There is also something, perhaps, in 
the influence of descent. Fanny certainly inherited from 
her mother a more delicate organization than generally 
attends her apparent station in life. She had, also, what 
perhaps belongs to the sex, a capability of receiving the 
mysteries and proprieties of dress ; and Nina, as she stood 
on the threshold of the single low room, could not but be 
struck with the general air of refinement which character- 
ized both it and its little mistress. There were flowers 
from the swamps and hedges arranged with care and taste, 
feathers of birds, strings of eggs cf different color, dried 
grasses, and various little woodland curiosities, which 


tiff’s garden. 


81 


showed a taste refined by daily intercourse with nature, 
Fanny herself was arrayed in a very pretty print dress, 
which her father had brought home in a recent visit, with 
a cape of white muslin. Her brown hair was brushed 
smoothly from her forehead, and her clear blue eyes, and 
fair, rosy complexion, gave her a pleasing air of intelligence 
and refinement. 

“ Thank you,” said Nina, as Fanny offered her the only 
chair the establishment afforded ; “ but I ’m going with 
Tiff out in the garden. I never can bear to be in the 
house such days as this. You did n’t expect me over so 
early, Uncle Tiff; but I took a notable turn, this morning, 
and routed them up to an early breakfast, on purpose that I 
might have time to get over here before the heat came on. 
It ’s pleasant out here, now the shadow of the woods falls 
across the garden so. How beautifully those trees wave 1 
Till', go on with your work — never mind me.” 

“ Yes, Miss Nina, it’s mighty pleasant. Why, I was 
out in dis yer garden at four o’clock dis morning, and 
’peared like dese yer trees was waving like a psalm, so sort 
o’ still, you know ! Kind o’ spreading out der hands like 
dey ’d have prayers ; and dere was a mighty handsome 
star a looking down. I spects dat ar star is one of de very 
oldest families up dar.” 

“ Most likely,” said Nina, cheerily. “ They call it Venus, 
the star of love, Uncle Tiff ; and I believe that is a very 
old family.” 

“ Love is a mighty good ting, any how,” said Tiff. 
“ Lord bress you, Miss Nina, it makes everyting go kind o’ 
easy. Sometimes, when I ’m studding upon dese yer tings, 
I says to myself, ’pears like de trees in de wood, dey loves 
each oder. Dey stands kind o’ locking arms so, and dey kind 
o’ nod der heads, and whispers so ! ’Pears like de grape- 
vines, and de birds, and all dem ar tings, dey lives com- 
fortable togeder, like dey was peaceable, and liked each 
oder. Now, folks is apt to get a stewin’ and a frettin’ 
round, and turning up der noses at dis yer ting, and dat 


82 


tiff’s garden. 


ar ; but ’pears like de Lord’s works takes everyting mighty 
easy. Dey just kind o’ lives along peaceable. I tink it ’s 
mighty ’structive ! ” 

11 Certainly it is,” said Nina. “ Old Mother Nature is an 
excellent manager, and always goes on making the best of 
everything.” 

“ Dere ’s heaps done dat ar way, and no noise,” said Tiff. 
“ Why, Miss Nina, I studies upon dat ar out here in my 
garden. Why, look at dat ar corn, way up over your head, 
now ! All dat ar growed dis yer summer. No noise ’bout 
it — ’pears like nobody couldn’t see when ’twas done. 
Dey were telling us in camp-meeting how de Lord created 
de heaven and de earth. Now, Miss Nina, Tiff has his own 
thoughts, you know ; and Tiff says, ’pears like de Lord is 
creating de heaven and de earth all de time. ’Pears like 
you can see Ilim a doing of it right afore your face ; and 
dem growing tings are so curus ! Miss Nina, ’pears for all 
de world like as if dey was critters ! ’Pears like each of 
’em has der own way, and won’t go no oder ! Dese yei 
beans, dey will come up so curus right top o’ de stalks ; 
dey will turn round de pole one way, and, if you was to 
tie ’em, you could n’t make ’em go round t’ oder ! Dey ’s 
set in der own way — dey is, for all dey ’s so still ’bout 
it! Laws, Miss Nina, dese yer tings makes Tiff laugh — 
does so ! ” he said, sitting down, and indulging in one of 
his fits of merriment. 

“ You are quite a philosopher, Tiff,” said Nina. 

“Laws, Miss Nina, I hopes not!” said Tiff, solemnly; 
“ ’cause one of de preachers at de camp-meeting used up 
dem folk terrible, I tell you ! Dat ar pretty much all I 
could make out of de sermon, dat people must n’t be ’loso- 
phers ! Laws, Miss Nina, I hope I an’t no sich ! ” 

“ 0, I mean the good kind, Uncle Tiff. But how were 
you pleased, upon the whole, at the camp-meeting ? ” said 
Nina. 

“ Well,” said Tiff, “ Miss Nina, I hope I got something 
— I don’t know fa’rly how much ’t is. But, Miss Nina, it 


tiff’s garden. 


83 


pears like as if you had come out here to instruct us ’bout, 
dese yer tings. Miss Fanny, she don’t read very well 
yet, and ’pears like if you could read us some out of de 
Bible, and teach us how to be Christians — ” 

“ Why, Tiff, I scarcely know how myself!” said Nina. 
“ I ’ll send Milly to talk to you. She is a real good Chris- 
tian.” 

“ Milly is a very nice woman,” said Tiff, somewhat 
doubtfully; “but, Miss Nina, ’pears like I would rather 
have white teaching; ’pears like I would rather have you, 
if it would n’t be too much trouble.” 

“ 0, no, Uncle Tiff! If you want to hear me read, I ’ll 
read to you now,” said Nina. “Have you got a Bible, 
here ? Stay ; I ’ll sit down. I ’ll take the chair and sit 
down in the shade, and then you need n’t stop your work ” 

Tiff hurried into the house to call Fanny ; produced a 
copy of a Testament, which, with much coaxing, he had per- 
suaded Cripps to bring on his last visit ; and, while Fanny 
sat at her feet making larkspur rings, she turned over 
the pages, to think what to read. When she saw Tiff’s 
earnest and eager attention, her heart smote her to think 
that the book, so valuable in his eyes, was to her almost an 
unread volume. 

“ What shall I read to you, Tiff? What do you want to 
kear ? ” 

“ Well, I wants to find out de shortest way I ken, how 
dese yer chil’en ’s to be got to heaven ! ” said Tiff. “ Dis 
yer world is mighty well long as it holds out ; but, den, yer 
see, it don’t last forever ! Tings is passing away ! ” 

Nina thought a moment. The great question of ques- 
tions, so earnestly proposed to her ! The simple, childlike 
old soul hanging confidingly on her answer ! At last she 
said, with a seriousness quite unusual with her : 

“ Tiff, I think the best thing I can do is to read to you 
about our Saviour. He came down into this world to show 
us the way to heaven. And I ’ll read you, when I come 
here days, all that there is about Him — all he said and did ; 
n. 8 

* 


84 


TIFF*S GARDEN. 


and then, perhaps, you ’ll see the way yourself. Perhaps,” 
she added, with a sigh, “ I shall, too 1 ” 

As she spoke, a sudden breeze of air shook the clusters 
of a prairie-rose, which was climbing into the tree under 
which she was sitting, and a shower of rose-leaves fell 
around her. 

“ Yes,” she said to herself, as the rose-leaves fell on 
her book, “it’s quite true, what he says. Everything is 
passing ! ” 

And now, amid the murmur of the pine-trees, and the 
rustling of the garden-vines, came on the ear of the listen- 
ers the first words of that sweet and ancient story : 

“ Now, when Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, be- 
hold there came wise men from the East, saying, * Where 
is He that is born King of the J ews ? For we have seen 
his star in the East, and are come to worship Him.’ ” 

Probably more cultivated minds would have checked the 
progress of the legend by a thousand questions, statistical 
and geographical, as to where Jerusalem was, and who the 
wise men were, and how far the East was from Jerusalem, 
and whether it was probable they would travel so far. But 
Nina was reading to children, and to an old child-man, in 
whose grotesque and fanciful nature there was yet treas- 
ured a believing sweetness, like the amulets supposed to 
belong to the good genii of the fairy tales. The quick 
fancy of her auditors made reality of the story as it went 
along. A cloudy Jerusalem built itself up immediately in 
their souls, and became as well known to them as the 

neighboring town of E . Herod, the king, became a 

real walking personage in their minds, with a crown on his 
head. And Tiff immediately discerned a resemblance be- 
tween him and a certain domineering old General Eaton, 
who used greatly to withstand the cause of virtue, and the 
Peytons, in the neighborhood where he was brought up. 
Tiff’s indignation, when the slaughter of the innocents 
was narrated, was perfectly outrageous. He declared “ He 
would n’t have believed that of King Herod, bad as he 


tiff’s garden. 


85 


was ! ” and, good-hearted and inoffensive as Tiff was in 
general, it really seemed to afford him comfort, “ dat de 
debil had got dat ar man ’fore now.” 

• “ Sarves him right, too ! ” said Tiff, striking fiercely at a 

weed with his hoe. “ Killing all dem por little chil’en ! 
Why, what harm had dey done him, any way ? Wonder 
what he thought of hisself ! 99 

Nina found it necessary to tranquillize the good creature, 
to get a hearing for the rest of the story. She went on 
reading of the wild night-journey of the wise men, and how 
the star went before them till it stood over the place where 
the child was. How they went in, and saw the young 
child, and Mary his mother, and fell down before him, offer- 
ing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 

“ Lord bless you ! I wish I'd a been dar ! ” said Tiff. 

“ And dat ar chile was de Lord of glory, sure ’nough, Miss # 
Nina ! I hearn ’em sing dis yer hymn at de camp-meeting, 

— you know, ’bout cold on his cradle. You know it goes 
dis yer way.” And Tiff sung, to a kind of rocking lullaby, 
words whose poetic imagery had hit his fancy before he 
knew their meaning. 

“ Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining, 

Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall ; 

Angels adore, in slumber reclining, 

Maker, and Saviour, and Monarch of all.” 

*1 

Nina had never realized, till she felt it in the undoubting 
faith of her listeners, the wild, exquisite poetry of that le- 
gend, which, like an immortal lily, blooms in the heart of 
Christianity as spotless and as tender now as eighteen 
hundred years ago. 

That child of Bethlehem, when afterwards he taught in 
Galilee, spoke of seed which fell into a good and honest 
heart ; and words could not have been more descriptive of 
the nature which was now receiving this seed of Paradise. 

When Nina had finished her reading, she found her own 
heart touched by the effect which she had produced. The 


86 


TIFF f S GARDEN. 


nursing, child-loving Old Tiff was ready, in a moment, to 
bow before his Redeemer, enshrined in the form of an infant ; 
and it seemed as if the air around him had been made sacred 
by the sweetness of the story. 

As Nina was mounting her horse to return, Tiff brought 
out a little basket full of wild raspberries. 

“ Tiff wants to give you something,” he said. 

“ Thank you, Uncle Tiff. How delightful ! Now, if 
you 'll only give me a cluster of your Michigan rose ! ” 

Proud and happy was 1 iff, and, pulling down the very top- 
most cluster of his rose, he presented it to her. Alas ! before 
Nina reached home, it hung drooping from the heat. 

“The grass wi there th, and the flower fadeth ; but the 
word of our God shall stand forever.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE WARNING. 

In life organized as it is at the South, there are two cur- 
rents ; — one, the current of the master’s fortunes, feelings, 
and hopes ; the other, that of the slave’s. It is a melan- 
choly fact in the history of the human race, as yet, that 
there have been multitudes who follow the triumphal march 
of life only as captives, to whom the voice of the trumpet, 
the waving of the banners, the shouts of the people, only 
add to the bitterness of enthralment. 

While life to Nina was daily unfolding in brighter colors, 
the slave-brother at her side was destined to feel an addi 
tional burden on his already unhappy lot. 

It was toward evening, after having completed his daily 
cares, that he went to the post-office for the family letters. 
Among these, one was directed to himself, and he slowly 
perused it as he rode home through the woods. It was as 
follows : 

My dear Brother : I told you how comfortably we 
were living on our place — I and my children. Since then, 
everything has been changed. Mr. Tom Gordon came here 
and put in a suit for the estate, and attached me and my 
children as slaves. He is a dreadful man. The case has 
been tried and gone against us. The judge said that both 
deeds of emancipation — both the one executed in Ohio, 
and the one here — were of no effect ; that my boy was a 
slave, and could no more hold property than a mule before 
a plough. I had some good friends here, and people pitied 
ii. 8* 


88 


THE WARNING. 


me very much ; but nobody could help me. Tom Gordon 
is a bad man — a very bad man. I cannot tell you all that 
he said to me. I only tell you that I will kill myself and 
my children before we will be his slaves. Harry, I have 
been free, and I know what liberty is. My children have 
been brought up free, and if I can help it they never shall 
know what slavery is. I have got away, and am hiding 
with a colored family here in Natchez. I hope to get to 
Cincinnati, where I have friends. 

“My dear brother, I did hope to do something for you. 
Now I cannot. Nor can you do anything for me. The law 
is on the side of our oppressors ; but I hope God will help 
us. Farewell ! Your affectionate 

“ Sister.” 

It is difficult to fathom the feelings of a person brought 
up in a position so wholly unnatural as that of Harry. The 
feelings which had been cultivated in him by education, and 
the indulgence of his nominal possessors, were those of an 
honorable and gentlemanly man. His position was abso- 
lutely that of the common slave, without one legal claim to 
anything on earth, one legal right of protection in any 
relation of life. What any man of strong nature would 
feel on hearing such tidings from a sister, Harry felt. 

In a moment there rose up before his mind the picture of 
Nina in all her happiness and buoyancy — in all the fortu- 
nate accessories in her lot. Had the vague thoughts which 
crowded on his mind been expressed in words, they might 
have been something like these : 

“ I have two sisters, daughters of one father, both beau- 
tiful, both amiable and good ; but one has rank, and posi- 
tion, and wealth, and ease, and pleasure ; the other is an 
outcast, unprotected, given up to the brutal violence of a 
vile and wicked man. She has been a good wife, and a 
good mother. Her husband has done all he could to save 
her ; but the cruel hand c f the law grasps her and her chil- 
dren, and hurls them back into the abyss from which it was 


4 

THE WARNING. 89 

his life-study to raise them. And I can do nothing ! I am 
not even a man ! And this curse is on me, and on my wife, 
and on my children and children’s children, forever! Yes, 
what does the judge say, in this letter ? 1 He can no more 

own anything than file mule before his plough ! ’ That ’s 
to be the fate of every child of mine ! And yet people say, 
* You have all you want ; why are you not happy ? ’ I wish 
they could try it ! Do they think broadcloth coats and gold 
watches can comfort a man for all this ? ” 

Harry rode along, with his hands clenched upon the letter, 
the reins drooping from the horse’s neck, in the same unfre- 
quented path where he had twice before met Dred. Look- 
ing up, he saw him the third time, standing silently, as if he 
had risen from the ground. 

“ Where did you come from ? ” said he. 11 Seems to me 
you are always at hand when anything is going against 
me ! ” 

“ Went not my spirit with thee ? ” said Dred. “ Have I 
not seen it all ? It is because we will bear this, that we 
have it to bear, Harry.” 

“ But,” said Harry, “ what can we do ? ” 

11 Do ? What does the wild horse do ? Launch out our 
hoofs ! rear up, and come down on them ! What does the 
rattlesnake do ? Lie in their path, and bite ! Why did 
they make slaves of us ? They tried the wild Indians first. 
Why did n’t they keep to them ? They would n’t be slaves, 
and we will l They that will bear the yoke, may bear it ! ” 
“ But,” said Harry, “ Dred, this is all utterly hopeless. 
Without any means, or combination, or leaders, we should 
only rush on to our own destruction.” 

“ Let us die, then ! ” said Dred. “ What if we do die ? 
What great matter is that ? If they bruise our head, we 
can sting their heels ! Nat Turner — they killed him ; but 
the fear of him almost drove them to set free their slaves ! 
Yes, it was argued among them. They came within two or 
three votes of it in their assembly. A little more fear, and 
they would have done it. If my father had succeeded, the 


90 


THE WARNING. 


slaves in Carolina would be free to-day. Die ? — Why not 
die ? Christ was crucified ! Has everything dropped out 
of you, that you can’t die — that you ’ll crawl like worms, 
for the sake of living ? ” 

“ I ’m not afraid of death, myself,”' said Harry. “ God 
knows I would n’t care if I did die ; but — ” 

“ Yes, I know,” said Dred. “ She that letteth will let, 
till she be taken out of the way. I tell you, Harry, there ’s 
a seal been loosed — there ’s a vial poured out on the air ; 
and the destroying angel standeth over Jerusalem, with his 
sword drawn ! ” 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” said Harry. 

Dred stood silent, for a moment ; his frame assumed the 
rigid tension of a cataleptic state, and his voice sounded 
like that of a person speaking from a distance, yet there 
was' a strange distinctness in it. 

“ The words of the prophet, and the vision that he hath 
from the Lord, when he saw the vision, falling into a trance, 
and having his eyes open, and behold he saw a roll 
flying through the heavens, and it was written, within and 
without, with mourning and lamentation and woe ! Behold, 
it cometh ! Behold, the slain of the Lord shall be many ! 
They shall fall in the house and by the way ! The bride 
shall fall in her chamber, and the child shall die in its 
cradle ! There shall be a cry in the land of Egypt, for 
there shall not be a house where there is not one dead ! ” 

“Dred! Dred! Dred!” said Harry, pushing him by 
the shoulder; “come out of this — come out! It’s fright- 
ful ! ” 

Dred stood looking before him, with his head inclined 
forward, his hand upraised, and his eyes strained, with the 
air of one who is trying to make out something through a 
thick fog. 

“ I see her ! ” he said. “ Who is that by her ? His back 
is turned. Ah ! I see — it is he ! And there ’s Harry and 
Milly! Try hard — try! You won’t do it. No, no use 
sending for the doctor. There ’s not one to be had. They 


THE WARNING. 


91 


are all too busy. Rub her hands ! Yes. But — it 's no 
good. ' Whom the Lord loveth, he taketh away from the 
evil to come.’ Lay her down. Yes, it is Death ! Death ! 
Death 1 ” 

Harry had often seen the strange moods of Dred, and he 
shuddered now, because he partook somewhat in the com- 
mon superstitions, which prevailed among the slaves, of his 
prophetic power. He shook and called him ; but lie turned 
slowly away, and, with eyes that seemed to see nothing, , 
yet guiding himself with his usual dextrous agility, he 
plunged again into the thickness of the swamp, and was 
soon lost to view. *****£* 

After his return home it was with the sensation of chill 
at his heart that he heard Aunt Nesbit reading to Nina 
portions of a letter, describing the march through some 
Northern cities of the cholera, which was then making 
fearful havoc on our American shore. 

“ Nobody seems to know how to manage it,” the letter 
said ; “ physicians are all at a loss. It seems to spurn all 
laws. It bursts upon cities like a thunderbolt, scatters 
desolation and death, and is gone with equal rapidity. 
People rise in the morning well, and are buried before even- 
ing. In one day houses are swept of a whole family.” 

“Ah,” said Harry, to himself, “ I see the meaning now, 
but what does it portend to us? ” 

How the strange foreshadowing had risen to the mind 
of Dred, we shall not say. Whether there be mysterious 
electric sympathies which, floating through the air, bear 
dim presentiments, on their wings, or whether some stray 
piece of intelligence had dropped on his ear, and been in- 
terpreted by the burning fervor of his soul, we know not. 
The news, however, left very little immediate impression 
on the daily circle at Canema. It was a dread reality in the 
far distance. Harry only pondered it with anxious fear. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE MORNING STAR. 

Nina continued her visits to Tiff’s garden on almost 
every pleasant morning or evening. Tiff had always some 
little offering, either berries or flowers, to present, or a nice 
little luncheon of fish or birds, cooked in some mode of 
peculiar delicacy ; and which, served up in sylvan style, 
seemed to have something of the wild relish of the woods. 
In return, she continued to read the story so interesting 
to him ; and it was astonishing how little explanation it 
needed — how plain honesty of heart, and lovingness of 
nature, interpreted passages over which theologians have 
wrangled in vain. It was not long before Tiff had imper- 
sonated to himself each of the disciples, particularly Peter ; 
so that, when anything was said by him, Tiff would nod his 
head significantly, and say, “ Ah, ah ! dat ar ’s just like him ! 
He ’s allers a puttin’ in ; but he ’s a good man, arter all ! ” 

What impression was made on the sensitive young nature, 
through whom, as a medium, Tiff received this fresh reve- 
lation, we may, perhaps, imagine. There are times in life 
when the soul, like a half-grown climbing vine, hangs 
wavering tremulously, stretching out its tendrils for some- 
thing to ascend by. Such are generally the great transition 
periods of life, when we are passing from the ideas and 
conditions of one stage of existence to those of another. 
Such times are most favorable for the presentation of the 
higher truths of religion. In the hazy,' slumberous stillness 
of that midsummer atmosphere, in the long, silent rides 
through the pines, Nina half awakened from the thoughtless 


THE MORNING STAR. 


93 


dreams of childhood, yearning for something nobler than 
she yet had lived for, thought over, and revolved in her 
mind, this beautiful and spotless image of God, revealed in 
man, which her daily readings presented ; and the world 
that he created seemed to whisper to her in every pulsation 
of its air, in every breath of its flowers, in the fanning of its 
winds, “ He still liveth, and he loveth thee.” The voice 
of the Good Shepherd fell on the ear of the wandering lamb, 
calling her to his arms ; and Nina found herself one day 
unconsciously repeating, as she returned through the woods, 
words which she had often heard read at church : 

“ When thou saidst unto me, Seek ye my face, my heart 
said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek.” 

Nina had often dreaded the idea of becoming a Christian, 
as one shrinks from the idea of a cold, dreary passage, which 
must be passed to gain a quiet home. But suddenly, as if 
by some gentle invisible hand, the veil seemed to be drawn 
which hid the face of Almighty Love from her view. She 
beheld the earth and the heavens transfigured in the light 
of his smile. A strange and unspeakable joy arose within 
her, as if some loving presence were always near her. It 
was with her when she laid down at night, and when she 
awoke in the morning the strange happiness had not 
departed. Her feelings may be best expressed by an 
extract from a letter which she wrote at this time to 
Clayton. 

“ It seems to me that I have felt a greater change in me 
within the last two months than in my whole life before. 
When I look back at what I was in New York, three 
months ago, actually I hardly know myself. It seems to 
me in those old days that life was only a frolic to me, as 
it is to the kitten. I don’t really think that there was much 
harm in me, only the want of good. In those days, some- 
times I used to have a sort of dim longing to be better, 
particularly when Livy Ray was at school. It seemed as 
if she woke up something that had been asleep in me ; but 


94 


THE MORNING STAR. 


she went away, and I fell asleep again, and life went on 
like a dream. Then I became acquainted with you, and 
you began to rouse me again, and for some time I thought 
I did n’t like to wake ; it was just as it is when one lies 
asleep in the morning — it ’s so pleasant to sleep and dream, 
that one resists any one who tries to bring them back to 
life. I used to feel quite pettish when I first knew you, and 
sometimes wished you ’d let me alone, because I saw that 
you belonged to a different kind of sphere from what I ’d 
been living in. And I had a presentiment that, if I let you 
go on, life would have to be something more than a joke 
with me. But you would , like a very indiscreet man as you 
are, you would insist on being in sober earnest. 

“ I used to think that I had no heart ; I begin to think I 
have a good deal now. Every day it seems as if I could 
love more and more ; and a great many things are growing 
clear to me that I did n’t use to understand, and I ’m grow- 
ing happier every day. 

“ You know my queer old protege, Uncle Tiff, who lives 
in the woods here. For some time past I have been to his 
house every day, reading to him in the Testament, and it 
has had a very great effect on me. It affected me very 
much, in the first place, that he seemed so very earnest 
about religion, when I, who ought to know so much more, 
was so indifferent to it; and when the old creature, with 
tears in his eyes, actually insisted upon it that I should 
show his children the road to heaven, then I began to read 
to him the Testament, the l’% of Jesus. I did n’t know 
myself how beautiful it was — how suited to all our wants. 
It seemed to me I never saw so much beauty in anything 
before ; and it seems as if it had waked a new life in me. 
Everything is changed ; and it is the beauty of Christ that 
has changed it. You know I always loved beauty above 
all things, in music, in nature, and in flowers ; but it seems 
to me that I see something now in Jesus more beautiful 
than all. It seems as if all these had been shadows of 
beauty, but he is the substance. It is strange, but I have 


THE MORNING STAR. 


95 


a Pf rise of liira r his living and presence, tnat sometimes 
^Lmovt overpowers me. It seems as if he had been follow- 
ing me always, but I had not seen him. He has been a 
good shepherd, seeking the thoughtless lamb. He has, all 
my life, been calling me child; but till lately my heart 
has never answered, Father! Is this religion? Is this 
what people mean by conversion ? I tried to tell Aunt 
Nesbit how I felt, because now I feel kinder to everybody ; 
and really my heart smote me to think how much fun I had 
made of her, and now I begin to love her very much. She 
was” so anxious I should talk with Mr. Titmarsh, because 
he is a minister. Well, you know I did n’t want to do it, 
but I 1 bought I ought to, because poor aunty really seemed 
to feel anxious I should. I suppose, if I were as perfect as 
I ougl t to be, a good man’s stiff ways would n’t trouble 
me so. But stiff people, you know, are my particular tempt- 
ation. 

** He came and made a pastoral call, the other day, and 
talked to me. I don’t think he understood me very well, 
and I ’m sure I did n’t understand him. He told me how 
many kinds of faith there were, and how many kinds of love. 
I believe there were three kinds of faith, and two kinds of 
love ; and he thought it was important to know whether I 
had got the right kind. He said we ought not to love God 
because he loves us, but because he is holy. He wanted 
to know whether I had any just views of sin, as an infinite 
evil ; and I told him I had n’t the least idea of what infinite 
was; and that I hadn’t any views of anything, but the 
beauty of Christ ; that I did n’t understand anything about 
the different sorts of faith, but that I felt perfectly sure that 
Jesus is so good that he would make me feel right, and 
give me right views, and do everything for me that I 
need. 

“ He wanted to know if I loved him because he magnified 
the law, and made it honorable ; and I told him I did n’t 
understand what that meant 

“ I don’t think, on the whole, that the talk did me much 
n. 9 


96 


THE MORNING STAR. 


good. It only confused me, and made me very uncomfort- 
able. But I went out to Old Tiff’s in the evening, and read 
how Jesus received the little children. You never saw 
anybody so delighted as Old Tiff was. He got me to read 
it to him three or four times over ; and now he gets me to 
read it every time I go there, and he says he likes it better 
than any other part of the Testament. Tiff and I get along 
very well together. He does n’t know any more about faith 
than I do, and has n’t any better views than I have. Aunt 
Nesbit is troubled about me, because I ’m so happy. She 
says she ’s afraid I have n’t any sense of sin. Don’t* you 
remember my telling you how happy I felt the first time I 
heard* real music ? I thought, before that, that I could sing 
pretty well ; but in one hour all my music became trash in 
my eyes. And yet, I would not have missed it for the world. 
So it is now. That beautiful life of Jesus — so sweet, so 
calm, so pure, so unselfish, so perfectly natural , and yet so 
far beyond nature — has shown me what a poor, sinful, low 
creature I am ; and yet I rejoice. I feel, sometimes, as I 
did when I first heard a full orchestra play some of Mozart’s 
divine harmonies. I forgot that I was alive ; I lost all 
thought of myself entirely ; and I was perfectly happy. So 
it is now. This loveliness and beauty that I see makes me 
happy without any thought of myself. It seems to me, 
sometimes, that while I see it I never can suffer. 

“ There is another thing that is strange to me ; and that 
is, that the Bible has grown so beautiful to me. It seems to 
me that it has been all my life like the transparent picture, 
without any light behind it ; and now it is all illuminated, 
and its wvrds are full of meaning to me. I am light-hearted 
and happy — happier than ever I was. Do you remember, 
the first day you came to Canema, that I told you it seemed 
so sad that we must die ? That feeling is all gone, now. I 
feel that Jesus is everywhere, and that there is no such 
thing as dying ; it is only going out of one room into 
another 

“ Ever} body wonders to see how light-hearted I am ; and 


THE MORNING STAR. 


97 


poor aunty says, ‘she trembles for me.’ I couldn't help 
thinking of that, the other morning I was reading to Tiff ; 
what Jesus said when they asked him why his disciples did 
not fast : 1 Can the children of the bride-chamber mourn 
while the bridegroom is with them ? ' 

“ Now, my dear friend, you must tell me what you think 
of all this, because, you know, I always tell you everything. 
I have written to Livy about it, because I know it will make 
her so happy. Milly seems to understand it all, and what 
she says to me really helps me very much. I always used 
to think that Milly had some strange, beautiful kind of in- 
ward life, that I knew nothing of, because she would speak 
with so much certainty of God's love, and act as if it was 
so real to her ; and she would tell me so earnestly, 1 Chile, 
he loves you ! ' Now I see into it — that mystery of his 
love to us, and how he overcomes and subdues all things by 
love ; and I understand how 1 perfect love casteth out 
fear.' " 

To this letter Nina soon received an answer, from which 
also we give an extract : 

“ If I was so happy, my dearest one, as to be able to 
awaken that deeper and higher nature which I always knew 
was in you, I thank God. But, if I ever was in any re- 
spect your teacher, you have passed beyond my teachings 
now. Your childlike simplicity of nature makes you a 
better scholar than I in that school where the first step is 
to forget all our worldly wisdom, and become a little child. 
We men have much more to contend with, in the pride of 
our nature, in our habits of worldly reasoning. It takes us 
long to learn the lesson that faith is the highest wisdom. 
Don't trouble your head, dear Nina, with Aunt Nesbit or 
Mr. Titmarsh. What you feel is faith. They define it, and 
you feel it. And there 's all the difference between the defi- 
nition and the feeling, that there is between the husk and 
the corn. 


98 


THE MORNING STAR. 


“ As for me, I am less happy than you. Religion seems 
to me to have two parts to it. One part is the aspiration 
of man’s nature, and the other is God’s answer to those as- 
pirations. I have, as yet, only the first ; perhaps, because 
I am less simple and less true ; perhaps, because I am not 
yet become a little child. So you must be my guide, instead 
of I yours ; for I believe it is written of the faithful, that a 
little child shall lead them. 

“ I am a good deal tried now, my dear, because I am 
coming to a crisis in my life. I am going to take a step 
that will deprive me of many friends, of popularity, and 
that will, perhaps, alter all my course for the future. But, 
if I should lose friends and popularity, you would love me 
still, would you not ? It is wronging you to ask such a 
question ; but yet I should like to have you answer it. It 
will make me stronger for what I have to do. On Thursday 
of this week, my case will come on again. I am very busy 
just now; but the thought of you mingles with every 
thought.’ 7 


CHAPTER X. 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 

The time for the session of the Supreme Court had now 
arrived, and Clayton’s cause was to be reconsidered. Judge 
Clayton felt exceedingly chagrined, as the time drew near. 
Being himself the leading judge of the Supreme Court, the 
declaration of the bench would necessarily be made known 
through him. 

“ It is extremely painful to me,” he said, to Mrs. Clay- 
ton, “ to have this case referred to me ; for I shall be obliged 
to reverse the decision.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Clayton, “ Edward must have forti- 
tude to encounter the usual reverses of his profession. He 
made a gallant defence, and received a great deal of admi- 
ration, which will not be at all lessened by this.” 

“ You do not understand me,” said Judge Clayton. “ It 
is not the coming out in opposition to Edward which princi- 
pally annoys me. It is the nature of the decision that I am 
obliged to make — the doctrine that I feel myself forced to 
announce.” 

“ And must you, then ? ” said Mrs. Clayton. 

“ Yes, I must,” said Judge Clayton. “ A judge can only 
perceive and declare. What I see, I must speak, though it 
go against all my feelings and all my sense of right.” 

“I don’t see, for my part,” said Mrs. Clayton, “how 
that decision can possibly be reversed, without allowing 
the most monstrous injustice.” 

“Such is the case,” said Judge Clayton; “but I sit in 
my seat, not to make laws, nor to alter them, but simply to 
n. 9* 


100 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


declare what they are. However bad the principle declared, 
it is not so bad as the proclamation of a falsehood would 
be. I have sworn truly to declare the laws, and I must 
keep my oath.” 

“ And have you talked with Edward about it ? ” 

11 Not particularly. He understands, in general, the 
manner in which the thing lies in my mind.” 

This conversation took place just before it was time for 
Judge Clayton to go to his official duties. 

The court-room, on this occasion, was somewhat crowded. 
Barker, being an active, resolute, and popular man, with a 
certain class, had talked up a considerable excitement with 
regard to his case. Clayton’s friends were interested in it 
on his account ; lawyers were, for the sake of the princi- 
ple ; so that, upon the whole, there was a good deal of 
attention drawn towards this decision. 

Among the spectators on the morning of the court, Clay- 
ton remarked Harry. For reasons which our readers may 
appreciate, his presence there was a matter of interest to 
Clayton. He made his way toward him. 

“ Harry,” he said, “ how came you here ? ” 

“ The ladies,” said Harry, “ thought they would like to 
know how the thing went, and so I got on to my horse and 
came over.” 

As he spoke, he placed in Clayton’s hand a note, and, 
as the paper touched his hand, a close spectator might have 
seen the color rise in his cheek. He made his way back to 
his place, and opened a law-book, which he hold up before 
his face. Inside the law-book, however, was a little sheet 
of gilt-edged paper, on which were written a few words in 
pencil, more interesting than all the law in the world. 
Shall we commit the treason of reading over his shoulder ? 
It was as follows : 

“You say you may to-day be called to do something 
wnich you think right, but which will lose you many friends ; 
which will destroy your popularity, which may alter all 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


101 


your prospects in life ; and you ask if I can love you yet. 
I say, in answer, that it was not your friends that I loved, 
nor your popularity, nor your prospects, but you. I can 
love and honor a man who is not afraid nor ashamed to do 
what he thinks to be right ; and therefore I hope ever to 
remain yours, Nina. 

“ P. S. I only got your letter this morning, and have 
but just time to scribble this and send by Harry. We are 
all wejl, and shall be glad to see you as soon as the case is 
over.” 

“ Clayton, my boy, you are very busy with your author- 
ities,^ said Frank Russel, behind him. Clayton hastily 
hid the paper in his hand. 

“It's charming!” said Russel, “to have little manu- 
script annotations on law. It lights it up, like the illumin- 
ations iir old missals. But, say, Clayton, you live at the 
fountain-head ; — how is the case going ? ” 

“ Against me ! ” said Clayton. 

“ Well, it’s no great odds, after all. You have had your 
triumph. These after-thoughts cannot take away that. * * 
* * * But, hush 1 There ’s your father going to speak ! ” 

Every eye in the court-room was turned upon Judge 
Clayton, who was standing with his usual self-poised com- 
posure of manner. In a clear, deliberate voice, he spoke as 
follows : 

“ A judge cannot but lament, when such cases as the 
present are brought into judgment. It is impossible that 
the reasons on which they go can be appreciated, but 
where institutions similar to our own exist, and are thor- 
oughly understood. The struggle, too, in the judge’s own 
breast, between the feelings of the man and the duty of the 
magistrate, is a severe one, presenting strong temptation to 
put aside such questions, if it be possible. It is useless, 
however, to complain of things inherent in our political 
state. And it is criminal in a court to avoid any responsi- 
bility which the laws impose. With whatever reluctance, 


102 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


therefore, it is done, the court is compelled to express an 
opinion upon the extent of the dominion of the master over 
the slave in North Carolina. The indictment charges a bat- 
tery on Milly, a slave of Louisa Nesbit. * * * * 

“ The inquiry here is, whether a cruel and unreasonable 
battery on a slave by the hirer is indictable. The judge 
below instructed the jury that it is. He seems to have put 
it on the ground, that the defendant had but a special prop- 
erty. Our laws uniformly treat the master, or other person 
having the possession and command of the slave, as en- 
titled to the same extent of authority. The object is the 
same, the service of the slave ; and the same powers must be 
confided. In a criminal proceeding, and, indeed, in refer- 
ence to all other persons but the general owner, the hirer 
and possessor of the slave, in relation to both rights and 
duties, is, for the time being, the owner. * * * * But, 

upon the general question, whether the owner is answerable 
criminaliter, for a battery upon his own slave, or other exer- 
cise of authority or force, not forbidden by statute, the 
court entertains but little doubt. That he is so liable, has 
never been decidedj nor, as far as is known, been hitherto 
contended. There has been no prosecution of the sort. 
The established habits and uniform practice of the country, 
in this respect, is the best evidence of the portion of power 
deemed by the whole community requisite to the preserva- 
tion of the master’s dominion. If we thought differently, 
we could not set our notions in array against the judgment 
of everybody else, and say that this or that authority may 
be safely lopped off. 

“ This has indeed been assimilated at the bar to the other 
domestic relations : and arguments drawn from the well- 
established principles, which confer and restrain the author- 
ity of the parent over the child, the tutor over the pupil, 
the master over the apprentice, have been pressed on us. 

“ The court does not recognize their application. There 
is no likeness between the cases. They are in opposition 
to each other, and there is an impassable gulf between 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


103 


them. The difference is that which exists between freedom 
and slavery ; and a greater cannot be imagined. In the 
one, the end in view is the happiness of the youth born to 
equal rights with that governor on whom the duty devolves 
of training the young to usefulness, in a station which he 
is afterwards to assume among freemen. To such an end, 
and with such a subject, moral and intellectual instruction 
seem the natural means ; and, for the most part, they are 
found to suffice. Moderate force is superadded only to 
make the others effectual. If that fail, it is better to leave 
the party to his own headstrong passions, and the ultimate 
correction of the law, than to allow it to be immoderately 
inflicted by a private person. With slavery it is far other- 
wise. Tile end is the profit of the master, his security, and 
the public safety ; the subject, one doomed, in his own per- 
son and his posterity, to live without knowledge, and with- 
out the capacity to make anything his own, and to toil that 
another may reap the fruits. What moral considerations 
shall be addressed to such a being, to convince him what it 
is impossible but that the most stupid must feel and know 
can never be true, — that he is thus to labor upon a princi- 
ple of natural duty, or for the sake of his own personal 
happiness ? Such services can only be expected from one 
who has no will of his own ; who surrenders his will in im- 
plicit obedience to that of another. Such obedience is the 
consequence only of uncontrolled authority over the body. 
There is nothing else which can operate to produce the 
effect. The power of the master must be absolute, to 

RENDER THE SUBMISSION OF THE SLAVE PERFECT. I DlOSt freely 

confess my sense of the harshness of this proposition. I 
feel it as deeply as any man can. And, as a principle of 
moral right, every person in his retirement must repudiate it. 
But, in the actual condition of things, it must be so. There 
is no remedy. This discipline belongs to the state of slav- 
ery. They cannot be disunited without abrogating at once 
the rights of the master, and absolving the slave from his 
subjection. It constitutes the curse of slavery to both the 


104 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


bond and the free portions of our population. But it is in- 
herent in the relation of master and slave. That there may 
be particular instances of cruelty and deliberate barbarity, 
where in conscience the law might properly interfere, is 
most probable. The difficulty is to determine where a court 
may properly begin. Merely in the abstract, it may well 
be asked which power of the master accords with right. 
The answer will probably sweep away all of them. But we 
cannot look at the matter in that light. The truth is that 
we are forbidden to enter upon a train of general reasoning 
on the subject. We cannot allow the right of the master 
to be brought into discussion in the courts of justice. The 
slave, to remain a slave, must be made sensible that there is 
no appeal from his master ; that his power is, in no instance, 
usurped, but is conferred by the laws of man, at least, if not 
by the law of God. The danger would be great, indeed, if 
the tribunals of justice should be calle^ on to graduate the 
punishment appropriate to every temper, and every derelic- 
tion of menial duty. 

“ No man can anticipate the many and aggravated provo- 
cations of the master which the slave would be constantly 
stimulated by his own passions, or the instigation of others, 
to give ; or the consequent wrath of the master, prompting 
him to bloody vengeance upon the turbulent traitor ; a ven- 
geance generally practised with impunity , by reason of its 
privacy. The court, therefore, disclaims the power of 
changing the relation in which these parts of our people 
stand to each other. 

* * * * * * * 

“ I repeat, that I would gladly have avoided this ungrate- 
ful question. But, being brought to it, the court is com- 
pelled to declare that while slavery exists amongst us in its 
present state, or until it shall seem fit to the legislature to 
interpose express enactments to the contrary, it will be the 
imperative duty of the judges to recognize the full dominion 
of the owner over the slave, except where the exercise of it 
is forbidden by statute. 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


105 


“ And this we do upon the ground that this dominion is 
essential to the value of slaves as property , io the security of 
the master and the public tranquillity, greatly dependent upon 
their subordination ; and, in fine, as most effectually securing 
the general protection and comfort of the slaves themselves. 
J udgment below reversed ; and judgment entered for the 
defendant.” 

During the delivery of the decision Clayton’s eyes, by 
accident, became fixed upon Harry, who was standing 
opposite to him, and who listened through the whole with 
breathless attention. He observed, as it went on, that his 
face became pale, his brow clouded, and that a fierce and 
peculiar expression flashed from his dark-blue eye. Never 
had Clayton so forcibly realized the horrors of slavery as 
when he heard them thus so calmly defined i 1 the presence 
of one into whose soul the iron had entered. The tones of 
Judge Clayton’s voice, so passionless, clear, and deliberate ; 
the solemn, calm, unflinching earnestness of his words, were 
more than a thousand passionate appeals. - In the dead 
silence that followed, Clayton rose, and requested per- 
mission of the court to be allowed to say a few words in 
view of the decision. His father looked slightly surprised, 
and there was a little movement among the judges. But 
curiosity, perhaps, among other reasons, led the court to 
give consent. Clayton spoke : 

“ I hope it will not be considered a disrespect or imper- 
tinence for me to say that the law of slavery, and the nature 
of that institution, have for the first time been made known 
to me to-day in their true character. I had before flattered 
myself with the hope that it might be considered a guardian 
institution, by which a stronger race might assume the care 
and instruction of the weaker one ; and I had hoped that its 
laws were capable of being so administered as to protect 
the defenceless. This illusion is destroyed. I see but too 
clearly now the purpose and object of the law. I cannot, 
therefore, as a Christian man, remain in the practice of law 
in a slave state. I therefore relinquish the profession, into 


106 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


which I have just been inducted, and retire forever from the 
bar of my native state.” 

“ There ! — there ! — there he goes ! ” said Frank Russel. 
“The sticking-point has come at last. His conscience is up, 
and start him now who can ! ” 

There was a slight motion of surprise in the court and 
audience. But Judge Clayton sat with unmoved serenity. 
The words had struck to the depth of his soul. They had 
struck at the root of one of his strongest hopes in life. 
But he had listened to them with the same calm and 
punctilious attention which it was his habit to give to 
every speaker ; and, with unaltered composure, he pro- 
ceeded to the next business of the court. 

A step so unusual occasioned no little excitement. But 
Clayton was not one of the class of people to whom his 
associates generally felt at liberty to express their opinions 
of his conduct. The quiet reserve of his manners dis- 
couraged any such freedom. As usual, in cases where a 
person takes an uncommon course from conscientious mo-' 
tives, Clayton was severely criticized. The more trifling 
among the audience contented themselves with using the 
good set phrases, quixotic, absurd, ridiculous. The elder 
lawyers, and those friendly to Clayton, shook their heads, 
and said, rash, precipitate, unadvised. “ There ’s a want 
of ballast about him, somewhere ! ” said one. “ He is un- 
sound ! ” said another. “ Radical and impracticable 1 ” 
added a third. 

“ Yes,” said Frank Russel, who had just come up, “ Clay- 
ton is as radical and impracticable as the sermon on the 
mount, and that ’s the most impracticable thing I know of 
in literature. We all can serve God and Mammon. We 
have discovered that happy medium in our day. Clayton is 
behind the times, ne is Jewish in his notions. Don’t you 
think so, Mr. Titmarsh ?” addressing the Rev. Mr. Titmarsh. 

“ It strikes me that our young friend is extremely ultra,” 
said Mr. Titmarsh. “ I might feel disposed to sympathize 
with him in the feelings he expressed, to some extent] but, 


TEE LEGAL DECISION. 


107 


it having pleased the Divine Providence to establish the 
institution of slavery, I humbly presume it is not competent 
for human reason to judge of it.” 

** And if it had pleased the Divine Providence to have 
established the institution of piracy, you ’d say the same 
thing, 1 suppose ! ” said Frank Russel. 

“ Certainly, my young friend,” said Mr. Titmarsh. 
" Whatever is divinely ordered, becomes right by that 
fact.” 

“ I should think,” said Frank Russel, “that things were 
divinely ordered because they were right.” 

“ No, my friend,” replied Mr. Titmarsh, moderately ; 
“ they are right because they are ordered, however con- 
trary they may appear to any of our poor notions of justice 
and humanity.” And Mr. Titmarsh walked off. 

“ Did you hear that ?” said Russel. “ And they expect 
really to come it over us with stuff like that ! Now, if a 
fellow don’t go to church Sundays, there ’s a dreadful out- 
cry against him for not being religious ! And, if they get 
us there, that’s the kind of thing they put down our 
throats ! As if they were going to make practical men give 
in to such humbugs ! ” 

And the Rev. Mr. Titmarsh went off in another direction, 
lamenting to a friend as follows : 

“ How mournfully infidelity is increasing among the 
young men of our day ! They quote Scripture with the 
same freedom that they would a book of plays, and seem 
to treat it with no more reverence ! I believe it ’s the 
want of catechetical instruction while they are children. 
There’s been a great falling back in the teaching of the 
Assembly’s Catechism tc children when they are young ! 
I shall get that point up at the General Assembly. If that 
were thoroughly committed when they are children, I think 
they would never doubt afterwards.” 

Clayton went home and told his mother what he had 
done, and why. His father had not spoken to him on this 
subject ; and there was that about Judge Clayton which 
ii 10 


108 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


made it difficult to introduce a topic, unless he signified 
an inclination to enter upon it. He was, as usual, calm, 
grave, and considerate, attending to every duty with 
unwearying regularity. 

At the end of the second day, in the evening, Judge 
Clayton requested his son to walk in to his study. The in- 
terview was painful on both sides. 

“ You are aware, my son,” he said, “ that the step you 
have taken is a very painful one to me. I hope that it was 
not taken precipitately, from any sudden impulse.” 

“ You may rest assured it was not,” said Clayton. “ I 
followed the deepest and most deliberate convictions of my 
conscience.” 

“ In that case, you could not do otherwise,” replied Judge 
Clayton. “I have no criticisms to make. But will your 
conscience allow you to retain the position of a slave- 
holder ? ” 

“ I have already relinquished it,” replied Clayton, “so 
far as my own intentions are concerned. I retain the 
legal relation of owner simply as a means of protecting my 
servants from the cruelties of the law, and of securing the 
opportunity to educate and elevate them.” 

** And suppose this course brings you into conflict with 
the law of the state ? ” said Judge Clayton. 

“ If there is any reasonable prospect of having the law 
altered, I must endeavor to do that,” said Clayton. 

“ But,” said Judge Clayton, “ suppose the law is so 
rooted in the nature of the institution, that it cannot be 
repealed without uprooting the institution ? What then ? ” 

“ I say repeal the law, if it do uproot the institution,” 
said Clayton. “ Fiat justitia ruat coelum.” 

“ I supposed that would be your answer,” said Judge 
Clayton, patiently. “ That is undoubtedly the logical line 
of life. But y ju are aware that communities do not follow 
such lines ; your course, therefore, will place you in oppo 
sition to the community in which you live Your conscien- 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


109 


tious convictions will cross self-interest, and the community 
will not allow you to carry them out.” 

“ Then,” said Clayton, “ I must, with myself and my ser- 
vants, remove to some region where I can do this." 

“ That I supposed would be the result,” said Judge Clay- 
ton. “ And have you looked at the thing in all its relations 
and consequences ? ” 

“I have,” said Clayton. 

“You are about to form a connection with Miss Gordon,” 
said Judge Clayton. “Have you considered how this will 
affect her ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Clayton. “ Miss Gordon fully sustains me 
in the course I have taken.” 

“ I have no more to say,” said Judge Clayton. “ Every 
man must act up to his sense of duty.” 

There was a pause of a few moments, and Judge Clayton 
added : 

“You, perhaps, have seen the implication which your 
course throws upon us who still continue to practise the 
system and uphold the institution which you repudiate.” 

“ I meant no implications,” said Clayton. 

“ I presume not. But they result, logically, from you? 
course,” said his father. “ I assure you, I have often myself 
pondered the question with reference to my own duties. 
My course is a sufficient evidence that I have not come to 
the same result. Human law is, at best, but an approxima 
tion, a reflection of many of the ills of our nature. Imper- 
fect as it is, it is, on the whole, a blessing. The worsi 
system is better than anarchy.” 

“ But, my father, why could you not have been a reformer 
of the system ? ” 

“ My son, no reform is possible, unless we are prepared 
to give up the institution of slavery. That will be the im- 
mediate result; and this is so realized by the instinct of 
self-preservation, which is unfailing in its accuracy, that 
every such proposition will be ignored, till there is a settled 
conviction in the community that the institution itself is a 


110 


THE LEGAL DECISION. 


moral evil, and a sincere determination felt to be free from 
it. I see no tendency of things in that direction. That 
body of religious men of different denominations, called, 
par excellence, the church, exhibit a degree of moral apathy 
on this subject which is to me very surprising. It is with 
them that the training of the community, on which any 
such reform could be built, must commence ; and I see no 
symptoms of their undertaking it. The decisions and testi 
monies of the great religious assemblies in the land, in my 
youth, were frequent. They have grown every year less 
and less decided ; and now the morality of the thing is 
openly defended in our pulpits, to my great disgust. I see 
no way but that the institution <will be left to work itself 
out to its final result, which will, in the end, be ruinous to 
our country. I am not myself gifted with the talents of 
a reformer. My turn of mind fits me for the situation I 
hold. I cannot hope that I have done no harm in it ; but 
the good, I hope, will outweigh the evil. If you feel a 
call to enter on this course, fully understanding the difficul- 
ties and sacrifices it would probably involve, I would be the 
last one to throw the influence of my private wishes and 
feelings into the scale. We live here but a few years. It 
is of more consequence that we should do right, than that 
we should enjoy ourselves.” 

Judge Clayton spoke this with more emotion than he 
usually exhibited, and Clayton was much touched. 

“My dear father,” he said, putting Nina’s note into his 
hand, “you made allusion to Miss Gordon. This note, 
which 1 received from her on the morning of your decision, 
will show you what her spirit is.” 

Judge Clayton put on his spectacles, and read over the 
note deliberately, twice. He then handed it formally to his 
son, and remarked, with his usual brevity, 

“ She will do 1 ” 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 

The shadow of that awful cloud which had desolated other 
places now began to darken the boundaries of the plantation 
of Canema. No disease has ever more fully filled out the 
meaning of those awful words of Scripture, “ The pestilence 
that walketh in darkness.” None has been more irregular, 
and apparently more perfectly capricious, in its movements. 
During the successive seasons that it has been epidemic in 
this country, it has seemed to have set at defiance the skill 
of the physicians. The system of medical tactics which 
has been wrought out by the painful experience of one 
season seems to be laughed to scorn by the varying type 
of the disease in the next. Certain sanitary laws and con- 
ditions would seem to be indispensable ; yet those who are 
familiar with it have had fearful experience how like a wolf 
it will sometimes leap the boundaries of the best and most 
carefully-guarded fold, and, spite of every caution and pro- 
tection, sweep all before it. 

Its course through towns and villages has been equally 
singular. Sometimes, descending like a cloud on a neigh- 
borhood, it will leave a single village or town untouched 
amidst the surrounding desolations, and long after, when 
health is restored to the whole neighborhood, come down 
suddenly on the omitted towns, as a ravaging army sends 
back a party for prey to some place which has been over- 
looked or forgotten. Sometimes, entering a house, in 
twenty-four hours it will take all who are in it. Sometimes 
it will ravage all the city except some one ctreet or locality, 
n. 10* 


112 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


and then come upon that, while all else is spared. Its 
course, upon Southern plantations, was marked by similar 
capriciousness, and was made still more fatal by that pecu- 
liar nature of plantation life which withdraws the inmates 
so far from medical aid. 

When the first letters were received describing the prog- 
ress of it in northern cities, Aunt Nesbit felt much uneasi- 
ness and alarm. It is remarkable with what tenacity people 
often will cling to life, whose enjoyments in it are so dull 
and low that a bystander would scarcely think them worth 
the struggle of preservation. When at length the dreaded 
news began to be heard from one point and another in their 
vicinity, Aunt Nesbit said, one day, to Nina, 

“ Your cousins, the Gordons, in E., have written to us to 
leave the plantation, and come and spend some time with 
them, till the danger is over. ” 

“ Why,” said Nina, “ do they think the cholera can’t 
come there ? ” 

“ Well,” said Aunt Nesbit, “ they have their family un- 
der most excellent regulations ; and, living in a town so, 
they are within call of a doctor, if anything happens.” 

“Aunt,” said Nina, “perhaps you had better go ; but I 
will stay with my people.” 

“ Why, don’t you feel afraid, Nina ? ” 

“ No, aunt, I don’t. Besides, I think it would be very 
selfish for me to live on the services of my people all my 
life, and then run away and leave them alone when a time 
of danger comes. The least I can do is to stay and take 
care of them.” 

This conversation was overheard by Harry, who was 
standing with his back to them, on the veranda, near the 
parlor door where they were sitting. 

“ Child,” said Aunt Nesbit, “ what do you suppose you 
can do ? You have n’t any experience. Harry and Milly 
can do a great deal better than you can. I ’ll leave Milly 
here. It ’s our first duty to take care of our health.” 

4 No, aunt, I think there are some duties before that,” 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


113 


said Nina. “ It ’s true I have n’t a great deal of strength, 
but I have courage ; and I know my going away would dis- 
courage our people, and fill them with fear ; and that, they 
say, predisposes to the disease. I shall get the carriage up, 
and go directly over to see the doctor, and get directions 
and medicines. I shall talk to our people, and teach them 
what to do, and see that it is done. And, when they see 
that I am calm, and not afraid, they will have courage. 
But, aunt, if you are afraid, I think you had better go. 
You are feeble ; you can’t make much exertion ; and if you 
feel any safer or more comfortable, I think it would be best. 
I should like to have Milly stay, and she, Harry, and I, will 
be a board of health to the plantation.” 

“ Harry,” she said, “if you ’ll get up the carriage, we ’ll 
go immediately.” 

Again Harry felt the bitterness of his soul sweetened and 
tranquillized by the noble nature of her to whose hands the 
law had given the chain which bound him. Galling and in- 
tolerable as it would have been otherwise, he felt, when 
with her, that her service was perfect freedom. He had not 
said anything to Nina about the contents of the letter which 
he had received from his sister. He saw that it was an evil 
which she had no power over, and he shrank from annoying 
her with it. Nina supposed that his clouded and troubled 
aspect was caused wholly by the solicitude of responsi- 
bility. 

In the same carriage which conveyed her to the town 
sat Aunt Nesbit also, and her cap-boxes, whose importance 
even the fear of the cholera could not lessen in her eyes. 
Nina found the physician quite au fait on the subject. He 
had been reading about miasma and animalculm, and he en- 
tertained Nina nearly half an hour with different theories as 
to the cause of the disease, and with the experiments which 
had been made in foreign hospitals. 

Among the various theories, there was one which ap- 
peared to be his particular pet; and Nina couldn’t help 
thinking, as he stepped about so alertly, that he almost en 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


114 

joyed the prospect of putting his discoveries to the test. 
By dint, however, of very practical and positive questions, 
Nina drew from him all the valuable information which he 
had to give her ; and he wrote her a very full system of direc- 
tions, and put up a case of medicines for her, assuring her 
that he should be happy to attend in person if he had time. 

On the way home, Nina stopped at Uncle John Gordon’s 
plantation, and there had the first experience of the differ- 
ence between written directions for a supposed case, and 
the actual awful realities of the disease. Her Uncle John 
had been seized only half an -hour before, in the most awful 
manner. The household was all in terror and confusion, 
and the shrieks and groans of agony which proceeded from 
his room were appalling. His wife, busy with the sufferer, 
did not perceive that the messengers who had been sent in 
haste for the doctor were wringing their hands in fruitless 
terror, running up and down the veranda, and doing 
nothing. 

“ Harry,” said Nina, “ take out one of the carriage- 
horses, and ride quick for your life, and bring the doctor 
over here in a minute 1 ” 

In a few moments the thing was done, and Harry was 
out of sight. She then walked up to the distracted ser- 
vants, and commanded them, in a tone of authority, to cease 
their lamentations. Her resolute manner, and the quiet 
tone of voice which she preserved, acted as a sedative on 
their excited nerves. She banished all but two or three of 
the most reasonable from the house, and then went to the 
assistance of her aunt. 

Before long the doctor arrived. When he had been in 
the sick room a few moments, he came out to make some 
inquiries of Nina, and she could not help contrasting the 
appalled and confounded expression of his countenance 
with the dapper, consequential air, with which, only two 
hours before, he had been holding forth to her on animal- 
culm and miasma. 

“ The disease,” he said, “presented itself in an entirely 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


115 


different aspect from what he had expected. The reme- 
dies/ ? he said, “ did not work as he anticipated ; the case 
was a peculiar one.” 

Alas ! before the three months were over, poor doctor, 
you found many peculiar cases ! 

“ Do you think you can save his life ? ” said Nina. 

“ Child, only God can save him 1 ” said the physician ; 
“nothing works right.” 

But why prolong the torture of that scene, or rehearse the 
struggles, groans, and convulsions ? Nina, poor flowery 
child of seventeen summers, stood with the rest in mute 
despair. All was tried that could be done or thought of ; 
but the disease, like some blind, deaf destroyer, marched 
on, turning neither to right nor left, till the cries and 
groans grew fainter, the convulsed muscles relaxed, and the 
strong, florid man lay in the last stages of that fearful col- 
lapse which in one hour shrivels the most healthy counte- 
nance and the firmest muscles to the shrunken and withered 
image of decrepid old age. When the breath had passed, 
and all was over, Nina could scarcely believe that that 
altered face and form, so withered and so worn, could have 
been her healthy and joyous uncle, and who never had ap- 
peared healthier or more joyous than on that morning. But, 
as a person passing under the foam and spray of Niagara 
clings with blind confidence to a guide whom he feels, but 
cannot see, Nina, in this awful hour, felt that she was not 
alone. The Redeemer, all-powerful over death and the 
grave, of whom she had been thinking so much, of late, 
seemed to her sensibly near. And it seemed to her as if a 
voice said to her, continually, “ Fear not, for I am with thee. 
Be not dismayed, for I am thy God.” 

1 How calm you are, my child ! ” said Aunt Maria to her. 
“ I would n't have thought it was in you. I don't know 
what we should do without you.” 

But now a frightful wail was heard. 

“0, we are all dying ! we are all going I 0, missis, 


116 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


come quick 1 Peter has got it 1 0, daddy has got it 1 0, 

my child ! my child ! ” 

And the doctor, exhausted as he was by the surprise and 
excitement of this case, began flying from one to another 
of the cabins, in the greatest haste. Two or three of the 
house-servants also seemed to be struck in the same mo- 
ment, and only the calmness and courage which Nina and 
her aunt maintained prevented a general abandonment to 
panic. Nina possessed that fine, elastic temperament which, 
with the appearance of extreme delicacy, possesses great 
powers of endurance. The perfect calmness which she felt 
enabled her to bring all her faculties to bear on the 
emergency. 

“ My good aunty, you must n’t be afraid ! Bring out your 
religion ; trust in God,” she said, to the cook, who was 
wringing her hands in terror. “ Remember your religion ; 
sing some of your hymns, and do your duty to the sick.” 

There is a magic power in the cheerful tone of courage, 
and Nina succeeded in rallying the well ones to take care 
of the sick ; but now came a messenger, in hot haste, to 
say that the cholera had broken out on the plantation at 
home. 

“ Well, Harry,” said Nina, with a face pale, yet unmoved, 
tl our duty calls us away.” 

And, accompanied by the weary physician, they prepared 
to go back to Canema. Before they had proceeded far, a 
man met them on horseback. 

“ Is Dr. Butler with you ? ” 

11 Yes,” said Nina, putting her head out of the car- 
riage. 

“ 0, doctor, 1 7 ve been riding all over the country after 
you. You must come back to town this minute ! Judge 
Peters is dying ! I ’m afraid he is dead before this time, 
and there ; s a dozen more cases right in that street. Here, 
get on to my horse, and ride for your life.” 

The doctor hastily sprang from the carriage, and mounted 
the horse; then, stopping a moment, he cast a look of 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


117 


good-natured pity on the sweet, pale face that was leaning 
out of the carriage window. 

“ My poor child,” he said, ** I can’t bear to leave you. 
Who will help you ? ” 

“ God,” said Nina ; “ I am not afraid ! ” 

“ Come, come,” said the man, “ do hurry! ” And, with 
one hasty glance more, he was gone. 

“ Now, Harry,” said Nina, “ everything depends upon 
our keeping up our courage and our strength. We shall 
have no physician. We must just do the best we can. After 
all, it is our Lord Jesus that has the keys of death, and he 
loved us and died for us. He will certainly be with us.” 

“ 0, Miss Nina, you are an angel ! ” said Harry, who felt 
at that moment as if he could have worshipped her. 

Arrived at home, Nina found a scene of terror and confu- 
sion similar to that she had already witnessed. Old Hun- 
dred lay dead in his cabin, and the lamenting crowd, gathering 
round, were yielding to the full tide of fear and excitement, 
which predisposed them to the same fate. Nina rode up 
immediately to the group. She spoke to them calmly ; she 
silenced their outcries, and bade them obey her. 

“ If you wish, all of you, to die,” she said, “ this is the 
way towards it ; but, if you 'll keep quiet and calm, and do 
what ought to be done, your lives may be saved. Harry 
and I have got medicines — we understand what to do. 
You must follow our directions exactly.” 

Nina immediately went to the house, and instructed Milly, 
Aunt Rose, and two or three of the elderly women, in the 
duties to be done. Milly rose up, in this hour of terror, 
with all the fortitude inspired by her strong nature. 

11 Bress de Lord,” she said, “ for his grace to you, chile ! 
De Lord is a shield. He ’s been wid us in six troubles, and 
he ’ll be wid us in seven. We can sing in de swellings of 
Jordan.” 

Harry, meanwhile, was associating to himself a band of 
the most reliable men on the place, and endeavoring in the 
same manner to organize them for action. A messenger 


118 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


was despatched immediately to the neighboring town for 
unlimited quantities of the most necessary medicines and 
stimulants. The plantation was districted off, and placed 
under the care of leaders, who held communication with 
Harry. In the course of two or three hours, the appalling 
scene of distress and confusion was reduced to the resolute 
and orderly condition of a well-managed hospital. 

Milly walked the rounds in every direction, appealing to 
the religious sensibilities of the people, and singing hymns 
of trust and confidence. She possessed a peculiar voice, 
suited to her large development of physical frame, almost 
as deep as a man’s bass, with the rich softness of a feminine 
tone ; and Nina could now and then distinguish, as she was 
moving about the house or grounds, that triumphant tone, 
singing, 

“ God is my sun, 

And he my. shade, 

To guard my head, 

By night or noon. 

Hast thou not given thy word 
To save my soul from death ? 

And I can trust my Lord, 

To keep my mortal breath, 
i'll go and oorne. 

Nor fear to die. 

Till from on high 
Thou call me home.” 


The house that night presented the aspect of a beleaguered 
garrison. Nina and Milly had thrown open all the cham- 
bers ; and such as were peculiarly exposed to the disease, 
by delicacy of organization or tremulousness of nervous 
system, were allowed to take shelter there. 

“ Now, chile,” said Milly, when all the arrangements 
had been made, “ you jes lie down and go to sleep in yer 
own room. I see how ’t is with you ; de spirit is willing, but 
de flesh is weak. Chile, dere is n’t much of you, but dere 
won’t nothing go widout you. So, you take care of yerself 
first. Never you be ’fraid 1 De people ’s quiet now, and de 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


119 


sick ones is ben took care of, and de folks is all doing de 
best dey can. So, now, you try and get some sleep ; ’cause 
if you goes we shall all go.” 

Accordingly Nina retired to hei room, but before she lay 
down she wrote to Clayton : 

11 We are all in affliction here, my dear friend. Poor 
Uncle John died this morning of the cholera. I had been 

to E to see a doctor and provide medicines. When I 

came back I thought I would call a few moments at the 
house, and I found a perfect scene of horror. Poor uncle 
died, and there are a great many sick on the place now ; 
and while I was thinking that I would stay and help aunt, 
a messenger came in all haste, saying that the disease had 
broken out on our place at home. 

“ We were bringing the doctor with us in our carriage, 

when we met a man riding full speed from E , who told 

us that Judge Peters was dying, and a great many others 
were sick on the same street. When we came home we 
found the poor old coachman dead, and the people in the 
greatest consternation. It took us some time to tranquillize 
them and to produce order, but that is now done. Our 
house is full of the sick and the fearful ones. Milly and 
Harry are firm and active, and inspire the rest with courage. 
About twenty are taken with the disease, but not as yet in 
a violent way. In this awful hour I feel a strange peace, 
which the Bible truly says * passeth all understanding.’ 
I see, now, that though the world and all that is in it should 
perish, 1 Christ can give us a beautiful immortal life.’ I 
write to you because, perhaps, this may be the only oppor- 
tunity. If I die, do not mourn for me, but thank God, who 
giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. But, 
then, I trust, I shall not die. I hope to live in this world, 
which is more than ever beautiful to me. Life has never 
been so valuable and dear as since I have known you. Yet 
I have such trust in the love of my Redeemer, that, if he 
were to ask me to lay it down, 1 could do it almost without’ 


120 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


a sigh. I would follow the Lamb whithersoever he goetn. 
Perhaps the same dreadful evil is around you, — perhaps at 
Magnolia Grove. I will not be selfish in calling you here, 
if Anne needs you more. Perhaps she has not such reliable 
help as Harry and Milly are to me. So do not fear, and do 
not leave any duty for me. Our Father loves us, and will 
do nothing amiss. Milly walks about the entries singing 
I love to hear her sing, she sings in such a grand, triumph 
ant tone. Hark, I hear her now ! 

* I ’ll go and come. 

Nor fear to die, 

Till from on high 
Thou call me home.’ 

“ I shall write you every mail, now, till we are better. 

“ Living or dying, ever your own 

“ Nina.” 

After writing this, Nina laid down and slept — slept all 
night as quietly as if death and disease were not hanging 
over her head. In the morning she rose and dressed her- 
self, and Milly, with anxious care, brought to her room some 
warm coffee and crackers, which she insisted on her taking 
before she left her apartment. 

“ How are they all, Milly? ” said Nina. 

“ Well, chile,” said Milly, “ de midnight cry has been 
heard among us. Aunt Rose is gone ; and Big Sam, and 
Jack, and Sally, dey ’s all gone; but de people is all 
more quiet, love, and dey ’s determined to stand it out ! ” 

“ How is Harry ? ” said Nina, in a tremulous voice. 

“ He is n’t sick ; he has been up all night working over 
de sick, but he keeps up good heart. De older ones is 
going to have a little prayer-meeting after breakfast, as a 
sort of funeral to dem dat ’s dead ; and, perhaps, Miss 
Nina, you’d read us a chapter.” 

“ Certainly I will,” said Nina. 

It was yet an early hour, when a large circle of family 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


121 


and plantation hands gathered together in the pleasant, 
open saloon, which we have so often described. The day 
was a beautiful one ; the leaves and shrubbery round the 
veranda moist and tremulous with the glittering freshness 
of morning dew. There was a murmur of tenderness and 
admiration as Nina, in a white morning- wrapper, and a 
cheek as white, came into the room. 

“ Sit down, all my friends,” she said, “ sit down,” look- 
ing at some of the plantation-men, who seeped to be diffi- 
dent about taking the sofa, which was behind them ; “ it *0 
no time for ceremony now. We are standing on the brink 
of the grave, where all are equal. I ’m glad to see you 
so calm and so brave. I hope your trust is in the Saviour, 
who gives us the victory over death. Sing,” she said. 
Milly began the well-known hymn : 

“ And must this feeble body fail, 

And must it faint and die ? 

My soul shall quit this gloomy vale, 

And soar to realms on high ; 

“ Shall join the disembodied saints. 

And find its long-sought rest ; 

That only rest for which it pants, 

On the Redeemer’s breast.” 

Every voice joined, and the words rose triumphant from 
the very gates of the grave. When the singing was over, 
Nina, in a tremulous voice, which grew clearer as she went 
on, read the undaunted words of the ancient psalm : 

“ He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High 
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say 
of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress. My God, in 
him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the 
snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He 
shall cover thee with his feathers. Under his wings shalt 
thou trust. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by 
night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day, nor for the pesti- 
lence that walketh in darkness, nor for the destruction that 


122 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall by thy side, and 
ten thousand at thy right hand ; but it shall not come nigh 
thee. He shall give his angels charge over thee to keep 
thee in all thy ways.” 

“ It is possible,” said Nina, “that we may, some of us, 
be called away. But, to those that love Christ, there is no 
fear in death. It is only going home to our Father. Keep 
up courage, then ! ” 

In all cases like this, the first shock brings with it more 
terror than any which succeeds. The mind can become 
familiar with anything, even with the prospect of danger 
and death, so that it can appear to be an ordinary condition 
of existence. Everything proceeded calmly on the planta- 
tion ; and all, stimulated by the example of their young 
mistress, seemed determined to meet the exigency firmly 
and faithfully. In the afternoon of the second day, as Nina 
was sitting in the door, she observed the wagon of Uncle 
Tiff making its way up the avenue ; and, with her usual 
impulsiveness, ran down to meet her humble friend. 

“ 0, Tiff, how do you do, in these dreadful times ! ” 

“ 0, Miss Nina,” said the faithful creature, removing his 
hat, with habitual politeness, “ ef yer please, I 's brought 
de baby here, 'cause it 's drefful sick, and I 's been doing all 
I could for him, and he don't get no better. And I 's 
brought Miss Fanny and Teddy, 'cause I 's 'fraid to leave 
'em, 'cause I see a man yesterday, and he tell me dey was 
dying eberywhar on all de places round.” 

** Well,” said Nina, “ you have come to a sorrowful place, 
for they are dying here, too ! But, if you feel any safer 
here, you and the children may stay, and we '11 do for you 
just as we do for each other. Give me the baby, while you 
get out. It 's asleep, is n't it ? ” 

“ Yes, Miss Nina, it 's 'sleep pretty much all de time, 
now.” 

Nina carried it up the steps, and put it into the arms of 
Milly. 

“ It 's sleeping nicely,” she said. 


THE CLOUD BURSTS. 


123 


“ Ah, honey 1 ” said Milly, “ it ’ll neber wake up out of 
dat ar ! Dat ar sleep an’t de good kind 1 ” 

“ Well/ 7 said Nina, “ we ’ll help him take care of it, and 
we ’ll make room for him and the children, Milly ; because 
we have medicines and directions, and they have nothing 
out there.” 

So Tiff and his family took shelter in the general fortress. 
Towards evening, the baby died. Tiff held it in his arms 
to the very last ; and it was with difficulty that Nina and 
Milly could persuade him that the little flickering breath 
was gone forever. When forced to admit it, he seemed for 
a few moments perfectly inconsolable. Nina quietly opened 
her Testament, and read to him : 

“ And they brought little children unto him, that he 
should touch them ; and his disciples rebuked those that 
brought them. But Jesus said, Suffer little children to 
come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the king- 
dom of heaven.” 

“ Bressed Lord ! ” said Tiff, “ I ’ll gib him up, I will ! I 
won’t hold out no longer 1 I won’t forbid him to go, if it 
does break my old heart ! Laws, we ’s drefful selfish 1 But 
de por little ting, he was getting so pretty I ” 
n. 11* 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Clacton was quietly sitting in his law-office, looking over 
and arranging some papers necessary to closing his busi- 
ness. A colored boy brought in letters from the mail. He 
looked them over rapidly ; and, selecting one, read it with 
great agitation and impatience. Immediately he started, 
with the open letter crushed in his hand, seized his hat, 
and rushed to the nearest livery-stable. 

“ Give me the fastest horse you have — one that can 
travel night and day I ” he said. “ I must ride for life or 
death ! ” 

And half an hour more saw Clayton in full speed on the 
road. By the slow, uncertain, and ill-managed mail-route, 
it would have taken three days to reach Canema. Clayton 
noped, by straining every nerve, to reach there in twenty- 
four hours. He pushed forward, keeping the animal at the 
top of his speed ; and, at the first stage-stand, changed him 
for a fresh one. And thus proceeding along, he found him- 
self, at three o’clock of the next morning, in the woods 
about fifteen miles from Canema. The strong tension of the 
nervous system, which had upheld him insensible to fatigue 
until this point, was beginning slightly to subside. All 
night he had ridden through the loneliness of pine-forests, 
with no eye looking down on him save the twinkling, mys- 
terious stars. At the last place where he had sought to 
obtain horses, everything had been horror and confusion. 
Three were lying dead in the house, and another was dying. 
All along upon the route, at every stopping-place, the air 


THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 


125 


had seemed to be filled with flying rumors and exaggerated 
reports of fear and death. As soon as he began to perceive 
that he was approaching the plantation, he became sensible 
of that shuddering dread which all of us may remember to 
have had, in slight degrees, in returning home after a long 
absence, under a vague expectation of misfortune, to which 
the mind can set no definite limits. When it was yet 
scarcely light enough to see, he passed by the cottage of 
Old Tiff. A strange impulse prompted him to stop and 
make some inquiries there, before he pushed on to the 
plantation. But, as he rode up, he saw the gate standing 
ajar, the door of the house left open ; and, after repeated 
callings, receiving no answer, he alighted, and, leading his 
horse behind him, looked into the door. The gloaming star- 
light was just sufficient to show him that all was desolate. 
Bomehow this seemed to him like an evil omen. As he was 
mounting his horse, preparing to ride away, a grand and 
powerful voice rose from the obscurity of the woods before 
him, singing, in a majestic, minor-keyed tune, these words : 


“ Throned on a cloud our God shall come, 

Bright flames prepare his way ; 

Thunder and darkness, fire and storm, 

Lead on the dreadful day ! ” 

Wearied with his night ride, his nervous system strained 
to the last point of tension by the fearful images which 
filled his mind, it is not surprising that these sounds should 
have thrilled through the hearer with even a superstitious 
power. And Clayton felt a singular excitement, as, under 
the dim arcade of the pine-trees, he saw a dark figure ap- 
proaching. He seemed to be matching with a regular tread, 
keeping time tc the mournful music which he sung. 

“ Who are you ? ” called Clayton, making an effort to 
recall his manhood. 

“ I ?” replied the figure, " I am the voice of one crying 
in the wilderness ! I am a sign unto this people of the 
judgment of the Lord ! ” 


126 


THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 


Our readers must remember the strange dimness of the 
hour, the wildness of the place and circumstances, and the 
singular quality of the tone in which the figure spoke, 
Clayton hesitated a moment, and the speaker went on : 

“ I saw the Lord coming with ten thousand of his saints I 
Before him went the pestilence and burning coals went 
forth at his feet 1 Thy bow is made quite naked, 0 God, 
according to the oaths of the tribes ! I saw the tents of 
Cushan in affliction, and the curtains of the land of Midian 
did tremble ! ” 

Pondering in his mind what this wild style of address 
might mean, Clayton rode slowly onward. And the man, 
for such he appeared to be, came out of the shadows of the 
wood and stood directly in his path, raising his hand with a 
commanding gesture. 

“I know whom you seek,” he said; “but it shall not 
be given you ; for the star, which is called wormwood, hath 
fallen, and the time of the dead is come, that they shall 
be judged ! Behold, there sitteth on the white cloud one 
like the Son of Man, having on his head a golden crown, 
and in his hand a sharp sickle ! ” 

Then, waving his hand above his head, with a gesture of 
wild excitement, he shouted : 

“ Thrust in thy sharp sickle, and gather the clusters of 
the vine of the earth, for her grapes are fully ripe ! Behold, 
the wine-press shall be trodden without the city, and there 
shall be blood even to the horses' bridles ! Woe, woe, 
woe to the inhabitants of the earth, because of the 
trumpets of the other angels, which are j^et to sound ! " 

The fearful words pealed through the dim aisles of the 
forest like the curse of some destroying angel. After a 
pause, the speaker resumed, in a lower and more plaintive 
tone : 

“ Weep ye not for the dead ! neither bewail her I Be- 
hold, the Lamb standeth on Mount Zion, and with him a 
hundred and forty and four thousand, having his Father's 
name written on their foreheads. These are they which 


THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 


127 


follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth ; and in their mouth 
is found no guile, for they are without fault before the 
throne of God. Behold the angel having the seal of God is 
gone forth, and she shall be sealed in her forehead unto the 
Lamb.” 

The figure turned away slowly, singing, as he made his 
way through the forest, in the same weird and funereal 
accents ; but this time the song was a wild, plaintive 
sound, like the tolling of a heavy bell : 

“ Ding dong ! dead and gone ! 

Farewell, father ! 

Bury me in Egypt’s land. 

By my dear mother ! 

Ding, dong ! ding, dong ! 

Dead and gone ! ” 

Clayton, as he slowly wound his way along the unfre- 
quented path, felt a dim, brooding sense of mystery and ter- 
ror creeping over him. The tones of the voice, and the 
wild style of the speaker, recalled the strange incident of 
the camp-meeting ; and, though he endeavored strenuously 
to reason with himself that probably some wild and excited 
fanatic, made still more frantic by the presence of death and 
destruction all around, was the author of these fearful de- 
nunciations, still he could not help a certain weight of fear- 
ful foreboding. 

This life may be truly called a haunted house, built as it 
is on the very confines of the land of darkness and the 
shadow of death. A thousand living fibres connect us with 
the unknown and unseen state ; and the strongest hearts, 
which never stand still for any mortal terror, have some- 
times hushed their very beating at a breath of a whisper 
from within the veil. Perhaps the most resolute unbeliever 
in spiritual things has hours of which he would be ashamed 
to tell, when he, too, yields to^ the powers of those awful 
affinities which bind us to that unknown realm. 

It is not surprising that Clayton, in spite of himself, 


128 


THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. 


should have felt like one mysteriously warned. It was f 
relief to him when the dusky dimness of the solemn dawn 
was pierced by long shafts of light from the rising sun, and 
the day broke gladsome and jubilant, as if sorrow, sighing, 
and death, were a dream of the night. During the whole 
prevalence of this fearful curse, it was strange to witness 
the unaltered regularity, splendor, and beauty, with which 
the movements of the natural world went on. Amid fears, 
and dying groans, and wailings, and sobs, and broken 
hearts, the sun rose and set in splendor, the dews twinkled, 
and twilight folded her purple veil heavy with stars ; birds 
sung, waters danced and warbled, flowers bloomed, and 
everything in nature was abundant, and festive, and joyous. 

When Clayton entered the boundaries of the plantation, 
he inquired eagerly of the first person he met for the health 
of its mistress. 

“ Thank God, she is yet alive ! ” said he. “ It was but 
a dream, after all ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE EVENING STAR. 

The mails in the State of North Carolina, like the pruden- 
tial arrangements in the slave states generally, were very 
little to be depended upon ; and therefore a week had 
elapsed after the mailing of Nina’s first letter, describing the 
danger of her condition, before it was received by Clayton. 
During that time the fury of the shock which had struck the 
plantation appeared to have abated ; and, while on some 
estates in the vicinity it was yet on the increase, the inhab- 
itants of Canema began to hope that the awful cloud was 
departing from them. It was true that many were still ail- 
ing ; but there were no new cases, and the disease in tho 
case of those who were ill appeared to be yielding to nurs- 
ing and remedies. 

Nina had risen in the morning early, as her custom had 
been since the sickness, and gone the rounds, to inquire for 
the health of her people. Returned, a little fatigued, she 
was sitting in the veranda, under the shadow of one of the 
pillar-roses, enjoying the cool freshness of the morning. 
Suddenly the tramp of horse’s feet was heard, and, looking, 
she saw Clayton coming up the avenue. There seemed but 
a dizzy, confused moment, before his horse’s bridle was 
thrown to the winds, and he was up the steps, holding her 
in his arms. 

" 0, you are here yet, my rose, my bride, my lamb ! 
God is merciful ! This is too much ! 0, I thought you 

were gone I ” 

"No, dear, not yet,” said Nina. "God has been with 


130 


THE EVENING STAR. 


us. We have lost a great many ; but God has spared me 
to you.” 

“ Are you really well ? ” said Clayton, holding her off, 
and looking at her. “ You look pale, my little rose ! ” 

“ That ’s not wonderful,” said Nina ; “ I ’ve had a great 
deal to make me look pale ; but I am very well. I have 
been well through it all — never in better health — and, it 
seems strange to say it, but never happier. I have felt so 
peaceful, so sure of God’s love ! ” 

“Do you know,” said Clayton, “that that peace alarms 
me — that strange, unearthly happiness ? It seems so like 
what is given to dying people.” 

“No,” said Nina, “I think that when we have no one 
but our Father to lean on, he comes nearer than he does any 
other time ; and that is the secret of this happiness. But, 
come, — you look wofully tired ; have you been riding all 
night ? ” 

“ Yes, ever since yesterday morning at nine o’clock. I 
have ridden down four horses to get to you. Only think, 
I did n’t get your letter till a week after it was dated I ” 

“ Well, perhaps that was the best,” said Nina ; “ because 
I have heard them say that anybody coming suddenly and 
unprepared in the epidemic, when it is in full force, is 
almost sure to be taken by it immediately. But you must 
let me take care of you. Don’t you know that I ’m mistress 
of the fortress here — commander-in-chief and head-physi- 
cian? I shall order you to your room immediately, and 
Milly shall bring you up some coffee, and then you must 
have some sleep. You can see with your eyes, now, that 
we are all safe, and there ’s nothing to hinder your resting. 
Come, let me lead you off, like a captive.” 

Released from the pressure of overwhelming fear, Clayton 
began now to feel the reaction of the bodily and mental 
straining which he had been enduring for the last twenty- 
four hours, and therefore he willingly yielded himself to 
the directions of his little sovereign. Retired to his room, 
after taking his coffee, which was served by Milly, he fell 


THE EVENING STAR. 


131 


into a deep and tranquil sleep, which lasted till some time 
in the afternoon. At first, overcome by fatigue, he slept 
without dreaming ; but, when the first weariness was past, 
the excitement of the nervous system, under which he had 
been laboring, began to color his dreams with vague and 
tumultuous images. He thought that he was again with 
Nina at Magnolia Grove, and that the servants were pass- 
ing around in procession, throwing flowers at their feet ; 
but the wreath of orange-blossoms which fell in Nina’s lap 
was tied with black crape. But she took it up, laughing, 
threw the crape away, and put the wreath on her head, and 
he heard the chorus singing, 

“ O, de North Carolina rose ! 

0, de North Carolina rose ! ” 

And then the sound seemed to change to one of lamenta- 
tion, and the floral procession seemed to be a funeral, and a 
deep, melancholy voice, like the one he had heard in the 
woods in the morning, sang, 

“ Weep, for the rose is withered ! 

The North Carolina rose ! ** 


He struggled heavily in his sleep, and, at last waking, 
sat up'and looked about him. The rays of the evening sun 
were shining on the tree-tops of the distant avenue, and 
Nina was singing on the veranda below. He listened, and 
the sound floated up like a rose-leaf carried on a breeze : 


“ The summer hath its heavy cloud, 

The rose-leaf must fall. 

But in our home joy wears no shroud — 
Never doth it pall ! 

Each new morning ray 
Leaves no sigh for yesterday — 

N o smile passed away 
Would we recall ! ” 


The tune was a favorite melody, which has found much 
u. 12 


132 


THE EVENING STAR. 


favor with the popular ear, and bore the title of “ The Hin- 
doo Dancing-Girl’s Song ; ” and is, perhaps, a fragment of 
one of those mystical songs in which oriental literature 
abounds, in which the joy and reunion of earthly love are 
told in shadowy, symbolic resemblance to the everlasting 
union of the blessed above. It had a wild, dreamy, sooth- 
ing power, as verse after verse came floating in, like white 
doves from paradise, as if they had borne healing on their 
wings : 

u Then haste to the happy land, 

Where sorrow is unknown ; 

But first in a joyous band, 

I ’ll make thee my own. 

Haste, haste, fly with me 

Where love’s banquet waits for thee ; 

Thine all its sweets shall be, 

Thine, thine, alone ! ” 


A low tap at his door at last roused him. The door was 
partly opened, and a little hand threw in a half- opened spray 
of monthly-rosebuds. 

“ There ’s something to remind you that you are yet in 
the body ! ” said a voice in the entry. “ If you are rested, 
I ’ll let you come down, now.” 

And Clayton heard the light footsteps tripping down tne 
stairs. He roused himself, and, after some little attention 
to his toilet, appeared on the veranda. 

“ Tea has been waiting for some time,” said Nina. “ I 
thought I ’d give you a hint.” 

“ I was lying very happy, hearing you sing,” said Clay- 
ton. “ You may sing me that song again.” 

“ Was I singing ? ” said Nina ; “ why, I did n’t know it 1 
I believe that ’s my way of thinking, sometimes. I ’ll sing 
to you again, after tea. I like to sing.” 

After tea they were sitting again in the veranda, and the 
whole heavens were one rosy flush of filmy clouds. 

“now beautiful!” said Nina. “It seems to me I ’ve 
enjoyed these things, this summer, as I never have be- 


THE EVENING STAR. 


133 


fore. It seemed as if I felt an influence from them going 
through me, and filling me, as the light does those clouds.’ ’ 

And, as she stood looking up into the sky, she began 
singing again the words that Clayton had heard before : 

“ I am come from the happy land, 

Where sorrow is unknown ; 

I have parted a joyous band, 

To make thee mine own ! 

Haste, haste, fly with me, 

Where love’s banquet waits for thee ; 

Thine all its sweets shall be — 

Thine, thine, alone ! 

" The summer has its heavy cloud, 

The rose-leaf must fall — •” 


She stopped her singing suddenly, left the veranda, and 
went into the house. 

“ Do you want anything ? ” said Clayton. 

“ Nothing,” said she, hurriedly. “ I ’ll be back in a mo- 
ment.” 

Clayton watched, and saw her go to a closet in which 
the medicines and cordials were kept, and take something 
from a glass. He gave a start of alarm. 

"You are not ill, are you ? ” he said, fearfully, as she 
returned. 

“0, no ; only a little faint. We have become so prudent, 
you know, that if we feel the least beginning of any disa- 
greeable sensation, we take something at once. I have felt 
this faintness quite often. It isn’t much.” 

Clayton put his arm around her, and looked at her with a 
vague yearning of fear and admiration. 

“You look so like a spirit,” he said, “ that I must hold 
you.” 

“Do you think I’ve got a pair of hidden wings ? ” she 
said, smiling, and looking gayly in his face. 

“ I am afraid so I ” he said. “ Do you feel quite well, 
now ? ” 


134 


THE EVENING STAR. 


“ Yes, I believe so. Only, perhaps, we had better sit down, 
I think, perhaps, it is the. reaction of so much excitement, 
makes me feel rather tired.” 

Clayton seated her on the settee by the door, still keep- 
ing his arm anxiously around her. In a few moments she 
drooped her head wearily on his shoulder. 

“ You are ill! ” he said, in tones of alarm. 

“ No, no ! I feel very well — only a little faint and tired. 
It seems to me it is getting a little cold here, is n't it ? ” 
she said, with a slight shiver. 

Clayton took her up in his arms, without speaking, carried 
her in and laid her on the sofa, then rang for Harry and 
Milly. 

“ Get a horse, instantly,” he said to Harry, as soon as 
he appeared, “ and go for a doctor ! ” 

“ There 's no use in sending,” said Nina ; “ he is driven 
to death, and can't come. Besides, there 's nothing the 
matter with me, only I am a little tired and cold. Shut the 
doors and windows, and cover me up. No, no, don't take 
me up stairs ! I like to lie here ; just put a shawl over me, 
that 's all. I am thirsty, — give me some water ! ” 

The fearful and mysterious disease, which was then in the 
ascendant, has many forms of approach and development. 
One, and the most deadly, is that which takes place when a 
person has so long and gradually imbibed the fatal poison of 
an infected atmosphere, that the resisting powers of nature 
have been insidiously and quietly subdued, so that the sub- 
ject sinks under it, without any violent outward symptom, 
by a quiet and certain yielding of the vital powers, such 
as has been likened to the bleeding to death by an internal 
wound. In this case, before an hour had passed, though 
none of the violent and distressing symptoms of the disease 
appeared, it became evident that the seal of death was set 
on that fair young brow. A messenger had been des- 
patched, riding with the desperate speed which love and 
fear caa give, but Harry remained in attendance. 

“ Nothing is the matter with me — nothing is the matter,” 


THE EVENING STAR. 


135 


she said, “ except fatigue, and this change in the weather. 
If I only had more over me ! and, perhaps, you had better 
give me a little brandy, or some such thing. This is water, 
is n't it, that you have been giving me ? ” 

Alas ! it was the strongest brandy ; but there was no taste, 
and the hartshorn that they were holding had no smell. 
And there was no change in the weather; it was only the 
creeping deadness, affecting the whole outer and inner 
membrane of the system. Yet still her voice remained 
clear, though her mind occasionally wandered. 

There is a strange impulse, which sometimes comes in the 
restlessness and distress of dissolving nature, to sing ; and, 
as she lay with her eyes closed, apparently in a sort of trance, 
she would sing, over and over again, the verse of the song 
which she was singing when the blow of the unseen destroyer 
first struck her. 

“ The summer hath its heavy cloud, 

The rose-leaf must fall ; 

But in our land joy wears no>hro)id. 

Never doth it pall.” 

At last she opened her eyes, and, seeing the agony of all 
around, the truth seemed to come to her. 

“ I think I 'm called 1 ” she said. “ 0, I 'm so sorry for 
you all ! Don't grieve so ; my Father loves me so well, — he 
cannot spare me any longer. He wants me to come to him. 
That 's all — don't grieve so. It 's home I 'm going to — 
home I 'T will be only a little while, and you '11 come too, 
all of you. You are satisfied, are you not, Edward ? " 

And again she relapsed into the dreamy trance, and sang, 
in that strange, sweet voice, so low, so weak, 

** In our land joy wears no shroud, 

Never doth it. pall.” 

Clayton, — what did he ? What could he do ? What have 
any of us done, who have sat holding in our arms a dear 
form, from which the soul was passing — the soul for which 
n. 12* 


136 


THE EVENING STAR. 


gladly we would have given our own in exchange ! When 
we have felt it going with inconceivable rapidity from us ; 
and we, ignorant and blind, vainly striving, with this and 
that, to arrest the inevitable doom, feeling every moment 
that some other thing might be done to save, which is 
not done, and that that which we are doing may be only 
hastening the cQurse of the destroyer ! 0, those awful, 

agonized moments, when we watch the clock, and no phy- 
sician comes, and every stroke of the pendulum is like the 
approaching step of death ! 0, is there anything in heaven 

or earth for the despair of such hours ? 

Not a moment was lost by the three around that dying 
bed, chafing those cold limbs, administering the stimulants 
which the dead, exhausted system no longer felt. 

“ She does n’t suffer ! Thank God, at any rate, for that ! ” 
said Clayton, as he knelt over her in anguish. 

A beautiful smile passed over her face, as she opened her 
eyes and looked on them all, and said, 

“ No, my poor friends, I don’t suffer. I ’m come to the 
land where they never suffer. I ’m only so sorry for you ! 
Edward,” she said to him, “ do you remember what you 
said to me once ? — It has come now. You must bear it 
like a man. God calls you to some work — don’t shrink 
from it. You are baptized with fire. It all lasts only a little 
while. It will be over soon, veiy soon ! Edward, take 
care of my poor people. Tell Tom to be kind to them. 
My poor, faithful, good Harry ! 0 ! I ’m going so fast! ” 

The voice sunk into a whispering sigh. Life now seemed 
to have retreated to the citadel of the brain. She lay 
apparently in the last sleep, when the footsteps of the 
doctor were heard on the veranda. There was a general 
spring to the door, and Dr. Butler entered, pale, haggard, 
and worn, from constant exertion and loss of rest. 

He did not say in words that there was no hope, but 
his first dejected look said it but too plainly. 

She moved her head a little, like one who is asleep, un- 
easily upon her pillow, opened her eyes once more, and said, 


THE EVENING STAR. 


137 


u Good-by ! I will arise and go to my Father ! ” 

The gentle breath gradually became fainter and fainter, — 
all hope was over ! The night walked on with silent and 
solemn footsteps - — soft showers fell without, murmuring 
upon the leaves — within, all was still as death I 


“ They watched her breathing through the night. 
Her breathing soft and low. 

As in her breast the ware of life 
Kept heaving to and fro. 

“ So silently they seemed to speak. 

So slowly moved about, 

As they had lent her half their powers 
To eke her living out. 

“ Their very hopes belied their fears, 

Their fears their hopes belied — 

They thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

t( For when the morn came dim and sad, 

And chill with early showers. 

Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
Another morn than ours.” 


CHAPTER XI Y 


THE TIE BREAKS. 

Clayton remained at Canema several days after the 
funeral. He had been much affected by the last charge 
given him by Nina, that he should care for her people ; and 
the scene of distress which he witnessed among them, at her 
death, added to the strength of his desire to be of service 
to them. 

He spent some time in looking over and arranging Nina’s 
papers. He sealed up the letters of her different friends, 
and directed them in order to be returned to the writers, 
causing Harry to add to each a memorandum of the time of 
her death. His heart sunk heavily when he reflected how 
little it was nossible for any one to do for servants left in 
the uncontrolled power of a man like Tom Gordon. The 
awful words of his father’s decision, with regard to the 
power of the master, never seemed so dreadful as now, 
when he was to see this unlimited authority passed into the 
hands of one whose passions were his only law. He re- 
called, too, what Nina had said of the special bitterness 
existing between Tom and Harry ; and his heart almost 
failed him when he recollected that the very step which 
Nina, in her generosity, had taken to save Lisette from his 
lawlessness, had been the means of placing her, without 
remedy, under his power. Under the circumstances, he 
could not but admire the calmness and firmness with which 
Harry still continued to discharge his duties to the estate ; 
visiting those who were still ailing, and doing his best to 
prevent their sinking into a panic which might predispose 


THE TIE BREAKS. 


139 


to another attack of disease. Recollecting that Nina had 
said something of some kind of a contract, by which 
Harry’s freedom was to be secured in case of her death, he 
resolved to speak with him on the subject. As they were 
together in the library, looking over the papers, Clayton 
said to him : 

“ Harry, is there not some kind of contract, or under- 
standing, with the guardians of the estate, by which your 
liberty was secured in case of the death of your mistress ? ” 

“Yes,” said Harry, “ there is such a paper. I was to 
have my freedom on paying a certain sum, which is all paid 
into five hundred dollars.” 

“ I will advance you that money,” said Clayton, unhesi- 
tatingly, “ if that is all that is necessary. Let me see the 
paper.” 

Harry produced it, and Clayton looked it over. It was 
a regular contract, drawn in proper form, and with no 
circumstance wanting to give it validity. Clayton, how- 
ever, knew enough of the law which regulates the condition 
in which Harry stood, to know that it was of no more avail 
in his case than so much blank paper. He did not like to 
speak of it, but sat reading it over, weighing every word, 
and dreading the moment when he should be called upon to 
make some remark concerning it ; knowing, as he did, that 
what he had to say must dash all Harry’s hopes, — the hopes 
of his whole life. While he was hesitating a servant en- 
tered and announced Mr. Jekyl ; and that gentleman, with 
a business-like directness which usually characterized his 
movements, entered the library immediately after. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Clayton,” he said, and then, nod 
ding patronizingly to Harry, he helped himself to a chair 
and stated his business, without further preamble. 

“ I have received orders from Mr. Gordon to come and 
take possession of the estate and chattels of his deceased 
sister, without delay.” 

As Clayton sat perfectly silent, it seemed to occur to Mr 
Jekyl that a few moral reflections of a general nature would 


140 


THE TIE BREAKS. 


be in etiquette on the present occasion. He therefore added, 
in the tone of voice which he reserved particularly for that 
style of remark : 

“ We have been called upon to pass through most solemn 
and afflicting dispensations of Divine Providence, lately. 
Mr. Clayton, these things remind us of the shortness of life, 
and of the necessity of preparation for death ! ” 

Mr. Jekyl paused, and, as Clayton still sat silent, he 
went on : 

* “ There was no will, I presume ? ” 

11 No,” said Clayton, “there was not.” 

“ Ah, so I supposed,” said Mr. Jekyl, who had now 
recovered his worldly tone. “ In that case, of course the 
whole property reverts to the heir-at-law, just as I had 
imagined.” 

“ Perhaps Mr. Jekyl would look at this paper,” said 
Harry, taking his contract from the hand of Mr. Clayton, 
and passing it to Mr. Jekyl ; who took out his spectacles, 
placed them deliberately on his sharp nose, and read the 
paper through 

“ Were you under the impression,” said he, to Harry, 
“ that this is a legal document ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Harry. “ I can bring witnesses to 
prove Mr. John Gordon’s signature, and Miss Nina’s also.” 

“0, that’s all evident enough,” said Mr. Jekyl. “I 
know Mr. John Gordon’s signature. But all the signatures 
in the world could n’t make it a valid contract. You see, 
my boy,” he said, turning to Harry, “ a slave, not being a 
person in the eye of the law, cannot have a contract made 
with him. The law, which is based on the old Roman code, 
holds him, pro nullis,pro mortuis ; which means, Harry, that 
he ’s held as nothing — as dead, inert substance. That ’s 
his position in law.” 

“ I believe,” said Harry in a strong and bitter tone, 
“ that is what religious people call a Christian institu- 
tion ! ” 


THE TIE BEEAKS. 


141 


“ Hey ? ” said Mr. Jekyl, elevating his eyebrows, “ what’s 
that ? ” 

Harry repeated his remark, and Mr. Jekyl replied in the 
most literal manner : 

“ Of course it is. It is a divine ordering, and ought to 
be met in a proper spirit. There ’s no use, my boy, in re- 
bellion. Hath not the potter power over the clay, to make 
one lump to honor, and another to dishonor ?” 

11 Mr. Jekyl, I think it would be expedient to confine the 
conversation simply to legal matters,” said Clayton. 

“ 0, certainly,” said Mr. Jekyl. “ And this brings me to 
say that I have orders from Mr. Gordon to stay till he 
comes, and keep order on the place. Also that none of 
the hands shall, at any time, leave the plantation until he 
arrives. I brought two or three officers with me, in case 
there should be any necessity for enforcing order.” 

“ When will Mr. Gordon be here ? ” said Clayton. 

“ To-morrow, I believe,” said Mr. Jekyl. “ Young man,” 
he added, turning to Harry, “ you can produce the papers 
and books, and I can be attending to the accounts.” 

Clayton rose and left the room, leaving Harry with the 
imperturbable Mr. Jekyl, who plunged briskly into the busi- 
ness of the accounts, talking to Harry with as much freedom 
and composure as if he had not just been destroying the 
hopes of his whole lifetime. 

If, by any kind of inward clairvoyance, or sudden clear- 
ing of his mental vision, Mr. Jekyl could have been made to 
appreciate the anguish which at that moment overwhelmed 
the soul of the man with whom he was dealing, we deem it 
quite possible that he might have been moved to a transient 
emotion of pity. Even a thorough-paced political economist 
may sometimes be surprised in this way, by the near view 
of a case of actual irremediable distress ; but he would soon 
have consoled himself by a species of mental algebra, that 
the greatest good of the greatest number was neverthe- 
less secure ; therefore there was no occasion to be troubled 
about infinitesimal amounts of suffering. In this way 


142 


THE TIE BREAKS. 


people can reason away every kind of distress but their 
own ; for it is very remarkable that even so slight an ail- 
ment as a moderate tooth-ache will put this kind of philos- 
ophy entirely to rout. 

" It appears to me,” said Mr. Jekyl, looking at Harry, 
after a while, with more attention than he had yet given 
him, " that something is the matter with you, this morning. 
Are n’t you well ? ” 

" In body,” said Harry, "I am well.” 

" Well, what is the matter, then ?” said Mr. Jekyl. 

" The matter is,” said Harry, " that I have all my life 
been toiling for my liberty, and thought I was coming nearer 
to it every year ; and now, at thirty-five years of age, I find 
myself still a slave, with no hope of ever getting free I ” 
Mr. Jekyl perceived from the outside that there was 
something the matter inside of his human brother; some 
unknown quantity in the way of suffering, such as his alge- 
bra gave no rule for ascertaining. He had a confused no- 
tion that this was an affliction, and that when people were 
in affliction they must be talked to ; and he proceeded 
accordingly to talk. 

" My boy, this is a dispensation of Divine Providence ! ” 
" 1 call it a dispensation of human tyranny ! ” said Harry 
"It pleased the Lord,” continued Mr. Jekyl, "to fore 
doom the race of Ham — ” 

" Mr. Jekyl, that humbug don’t go down with me ! I’m 
no more of the race of Ham than you are ! I ’m Colonel 
Gordon’s oldest son — as white as my brother, whom you 
say owns me ! Look at my eyes, and my hair, and say if 
any of the rules about Ham pertain to me 1 ” 

" Well,” said Mr. Jekyl, "my boy, you mustn’t get ex- 
cited. Everything must go, you know, by general rules. 
We must take that course which secures the greatest gen- 
eral amount of good on the whole ; and all such rules will 
work hard in particular'' cases. Slavery is a great mission- 
ary enterprise for civilizing and christianizing the degraded 
African.” 


THE TIE BREAKS. 


113 


“ Wait till you see Tom Gordon's management on this 
plantation," said Harry, “and you'll see what sort of a 
christianizing institution it is ! Mr. Jekyl, you know bet- 
ter ! You throw such talk as that in the face of your north- 
ern visitors, and you know all the while that Sodom and 
Gomorrah don’t equal some of these plantations, where 
nobody is anybody's husband or wife in particular 1 You 
know all these things, and you dare talk to me about a mis- 
sionary institution ! What sort of missionary institutions 
are the great trading-marts, where they sell men and 
women ? What are the means of grace, they use there ? 
And the dogs, and the negro-huDters 1 — those are for the 
greatest good, too ! If your soul were in our souls' stead, 
you 'd see things differently." 

Mr. Jekyl was astonished, and said so. But he found a 
difficulty in presenting his favorite view of the case, under 
the circumstances ; and we believe those ministers of the 
Gospel, and elders, who entertain similar doctrines, would 
gain some new views by the effort to present them to a live 
man in Harry's circumstances. Mr. Jekyl never had a more 
realizing sense of the difference between the abstract and 
concrete. 

Harry was now thoroughly roused. He had inherited the 
violent and fiery passions of his father. His usual appear- 
ance of studied calmness, and his habits of deferential 
address, were superinduced ; they resembled the thin crust 
which coats over a flood of boiling lava, and which a burst 
of the seething mass beneath can shiver in a moment. He 
was now wholly desperate and reckless. He saw himself 
already delivered, bound hand and foot, into the hands of a 
master from whom he could expect neither mercy nor jus- 
tice. ne was like one who had hung suspended over an 
abyss, by grasping a wild rose ; the frail and beautiful thing 
was broken, and he felt himself going , with only despair 
beneath him. He rose and stood the other side of the 
table, his hands trembling with excitement. 

“ Mr. Jekyl," he said 4 “ it is all over with me ! Twenty 
n. 13 \ 


THE TIE BREAKS. 


144 

yeaaAof faithful service have gone for nothing. Myself and 
wife, and unborn child, are the slaves of a vile wretch ! Hush, 
now ! I will have my say for oncel I ’ve borne, and borne, 
and borne, and it shall come out ! You men who call your- 
selves religious, and stand up for such tyranny, — you ser- 
pents, you generation of vipers, — how can you escape the 
damnation of hell? You keep the clothes, of them who 
stone Stephen 1 You encourage theft, and robbery, and 
adultery, and you know it ! You are worse than the villains 
themselves, who don't pretend to justify what they do. Now, 
go, tell Tom Gordon — go ! I shall fight it out to the last ! 
I ’ve nothing to hope, and nothing to lose. Let him look 
out ! They made sport of Samson, — they put out his eyes, 
— but he pulled down the temple over their heads, after all. 
Look out ! ” 

There is something awful in an outburst of violent pas- 
siqn. The veins in Harry’s forehead were swollen, his lips 
were livid, his eyes glittered like lightning ; and Mr. Jekyl 
cowered before him. 

“There will come a day,” said Harry, “when all this 
shall be visited upon you ! The measure you have filled to 
us shall be filled to you double — mark my words ! ” 

Harry spoke so loudly, in his vehemence, that Clayton 
overheard him, and came behind him silently into the room. 
He was pained, shocked, and astonished ; and, obeying the 
first instinct, he came forward and laid his hand entreatingly 
on Harry’s shoulder. 

“ My good fellow, you don’t know what you are saying,” 
he said. 

“ Yes I do,” said Harry, “ and my words will be true ! ” 

Another witness had come behind Clayton — Tom Gor- 
don, in his travelling-dress, with pistols at his belt. He had 
ridden over after Jekyl, and had arrived in time to hear 
part of Harry’s frantic ravings. 

“ Stop 1 ” he said, stepping into the middle of the room ; 
“ leave that fellow to me 1 Now, boy,” he said, fixing his 
dark and evil eye upon Harry, “ you did n’t know that your 


THE TIE BREAKS. 


145 


master was hearing you, did you? The last time, We met, 
you told me I was n’t jour master! Now, whTl see if 
you ’ll say that again ! You went whimpering to your mis- 
tress, and got her to buy Lisette, so as to keep her out of 
my way ! Now who owns her ? — say ! Do you see this ? " 
he said, holding up a long, lithe gutta-percha cane. “ This 
is what I whip dogs with, when they don't know their 
place ! Now, sir, down on your knees, and ask pardon for 
your impudence, or I '11 thrash you within an inch of your 
life ! " 

“ I won't kneel to my younger brother ! " said Harry. 

With a tremendous oath, Tom struck him ; and, as if a 
rebound from the stroke, Harry struck back a blow so violent 
as to send him sturpbling across the room, against the 
opposite wall ; then turned, quick as thought, sprang 
through the open window, climbed down the veranda, 
vaulted on to Tom's horse, which stood tied at the post, 
and fled as rapidly as lightning to his cottage door, where 
Lisette stood at the ironing-table. He reached out his 
hand, and said, “ Up, quick, Lisette ! Tom Gordon 's here ! " 
And before Tom Gordon had fairly recovered from the 
dizziness into which the blow had thrown him, the fleet 
blood-horse was whirling Harry and Lisette past bush and 
tree, till they arrived at the place where he had twice before 
met Died. 

Dred was standing there. “ Even so," he said, as the 
horse stopped, and Harry and Lisette descended ; “ the 
vision is fulfilled ! Behold, the Lord shall make thee a wit- 
ness and commander to the people ! " 

“ There 's no time to be lost," said Harry. 

“ Well I know that," said Dred. “ Come, follow me ! " 

And before sunset of that evening Harry and Lisette were 
tenants of the wild fastness in the centre of the swamp. 


f 


* ' 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE PURPOSE. 

It would be scarcely possible to describe the scene which 
Harry left in the library. Tom Gordon was for a few 
moments stunned by the violence of his fall, and Clayton 
and Mr. Jekyl at first did not. know but he had sustained 
some serious injury ; and the latter, m*his confusion, came 
very near attempting his recovery, by pouring in his face 
the contents of the large ink-stand. Certainly, quite as 
appropriate a method, under the circumstances, as the 
exhortations with which he had deluged Harry. But Clay- 
ton, with more presence of mind, held his hand, and rang for 
water. In a few moments, however, Tom recovered himself, 
and started up furiously. 

“ Where is he ? ” he shouted, with a volley of oaths ; 
which made Mr. Jekyl pull up his shirt-collar, as became a 
good elderly gentleman, preparatory to a little admonition. 

“ My young friend — ” he began. 

“ Blast you 1 None of your young friends to me ! Where 
is he?” 

“ He has escaped,” said Clayton, quietly. 

“ He got right out of the window,” said Mr. Jekyl. 

“ Confound you, why did n’t you stop him ? ” said Tom 
violently. 

“ If that question is addressed to me,” said Clayton, “ i 
do not interfere in your family affairs.” 

“ You have interfered, more than you ever shall again 1 ” 
said Tom, roughly. “ But, there ’s no use talking now ; 
th<? t fellow must be cbased ! He thinks he ’s got away from 

^ • 1 


THE PURPOSE. 


147 


me — we ’ll see ! I ’ll make such an example of him as 
shall be remembered ! ” He rang the bell violently. “Jim,” 
he said, “ did you see H$hy go off on my horse ? ” 

“ Yes, sah ! ” 

“ Then, why in thunder did n’t you stop him ? ” 

“ I tought Mas’r Tom sent him — did so ! ” 

“ You knew better, you dog ! And now, I tell you, order 
out the best horses, and be on after him ! And, if you don’t 
catch him, it shall be the worse for you ! — Jitay ! Get me a 
horse ! I ’ll go myself.” 

Clayton saw that it was useless to remain any longer at 
Canema. He therefore ordered his horse, and departed. 
Tom Gordon cast an evil eye after him, as he rode away. 

“ I hate that fellow ! ” he said. “ I ’ll make him mischief, 
one of these days, if I can V” 

As to Clayton, he rode away in bitterness of spirit. 
There are some men so constituted that the sight of injustice, 
which they have no powe* to remedy, is perfectly maddem 
ing to them. This is a very painful and unprofitable consti- 
tution, so far as this world is concerned ; but they can no 
more help it than they can the tooth-ache. Others may say 
to them, “ Why, what is it to you ? You can’t help it, and 
it ’s none of your concern but still the fever burns on. 
Besides, Clayton had just passed through one of the great 
crises of life. All there is in that strange mystery of what 
man can feel for woman had risen like a wave within him ; 
and, gathering into itself, for a time, the whole force of his be- 
ing, had broken, with one dash, on the shore of death, and the 
waters had flowed helplessly backward. In the great void 
which follows such a crisis, the soul sets up a craving and 
cry for something to come in to fill the emptiness ; and 
while the heart says no person can come into that desolate 
and sacred enclosure, it sometimes embraces a purpose, as 
in some sort a substitute. 

In this manner, with solemnity and earnestness, Clayton 
resolved to receive as a life-purpose a struggle with this 
great system of injustice, which, like a parasitic weed, had 
ii. 13* . 


THE x* OPPOSE. 


U* * 

struck its roots through the whole growth of society, ana 
was sucking thence its moisture and nourishment. 

As he rode through the lonel^pine-woods, he felt his 
veins throbbing and swelling with indignation and desire. 
And there arose within him that sense of power which some- 
times seems to come over man like an inspiration, and leads 
him to say, “ This shall not be, and this shall be as if he 
possessed the ability to control the crooked course of human 
events. He wa^thankful in his heart that he had taken the 
first step, by ewring his public protest against this injus- 
tice, in quitting the bar of his native state. What was next 
to be done, how the evil was to be attacked, how the 
vague purpose fulfilled, he could not say. Clayton was not 
aware, any more than others in his situation have been, of 
what he was undertaking. He had belonged to an old and 
respected family, and always, as a matter of course, been 
received in all circles with attention, and listened to with 
respect. He who glides dreamily down the glassy surface 
of a mighty river floats securely, making his calculations 
to row upward. He knows nothing what the force of that 
seemingly glassy current will be when his one feeble oar is 
set against the whole volume of its waters. Clayton did 
not know that he was already a marked man ; that he had 
touched a spot, in the society where he lived, which was 
vital, and which that society would never suffer to be 
touched with impunity. It was the fault of Clayton, and is 
the fault of all such men, that he judged mankind by him- 
self. He could not believe that anything, except ignorance 
and inattention, could make men upholders of deliberate 
injustice. He thought all that was necessary was the 
enlightening of the public mind, the direction of general 
attention to the subject. In his way homeward he revolved 
in his mind immediate measures of action. This evil should 
no longer be tampered with. He would take on himself the 
task <3f combining and concentrating those vague impulses 
towards good which he supposed were existing in the com- 
munity. He would take counsel of leading minds. Ho 


THE PURPOSE. 


149 


would give his time to journeyings through the state ; he 
w^uld deliver addresses, write in the newspapers, and do 
w^at otherwise lies in the power of a free man who wishes to 
reach an utterly unjust law. Full of these determinations, 
Clayton entered again his father’s house, after two days of 
solitary riding. He had written in advance to his parents 
of the death of Nina, and had begged them to spare him 
any conversation on that subject ; and, therefore, on his 
first meeting with his mother and father, there was that 
painful blank, that heavy dulness of suffer^J, which comes 
when people meet together, feeling deeply on one absorbing 
subject, which must not be named. It was a greater self- 
denial to his impulsive, warm-hearted mother than to Clay- 
ton. She yearned to express sympathy ; to throw herself 
upon his neck ; to draw forth his feelings, and min gl^ them 
with her own. But there are some people with whom this 
is impossible ; it seems to be their fate that they cannot 
speak of what they suffer. It is not pride nor coldness, but 
a kind of fatal necessity, as if the body were a marble prison, 
in which the soul were condemned to bleed and suffer alone. 
It is the last triumph of affection and magnanimity, when a 
loving heart can respect that suffering silence of its beloved, 
and allow that lonely liberty in which only some natures 
can find comfort. 

Clayton’s sorrow could only be measured by the eager- 
ness and energy with which, in conversation, he pursued 
the object with which he endeavored to fill his mind. 

“Iam far from looking forward with hope to any success 
from your efforts,” said Judge Clayton, “the evil is so 
radical.” 

“ I sometimes think,” said Mrs. Clayton, 1 “ that I regret 
that Edward began as he did. It was such a shock to the 
prejudices of people ! ” 

“People have got to be shocked,” said Clayton, “in 
order to wake them up out of old absurd routine. Use 
paralyzes us to almost every injustice ; when people are 
shocked, they begin to think and to inquire.” 


150 


THE PURPOSE. 


“ But would it not have been better,” said Mrs. Claytotf, 
i: to have preserved your personal influence, and thus havs 
insinuated your opinions more gradually ? There is such a 
prejudice against abolitionists ; and, when a man makes 
any sudden demonstration on this subject, people are apt 
to call him an abolitionist, and then his influence is all gone, 
and he can do nothing.” 

“ I suspect,” said Clayton, 11 there are multitudes now in 
every part of our state who are kept from expressing what 
they really thinjfeand doing what they ought to do, by this 
fear. Somebody®tmust brave this mad-dog cry ; somebody 
must be willing to be odious ; and I shall answer the purpose 
as well as anybody.” 

“ Have you any definite plan of what is to be attempted ? ” 
said his father. 

“ Of course,” said Clayton, “a man’s first notions on 
such a subject must be crude ; but it occurred to me, first, 
to endeavor to excite the public mind on the injustice of the 
present slave-law, with a view to altering it.” 

“ And what points would you alter ? ” said Judge Clay- 
ton. 

“ I would give to the slave the right to bring suit for in- 
jury, and to be a legal witness in court. I would repeal the 
law forbidding their education, and I would forbid the sepa- 
ration of families.” 

Judge Clayton sat pondering. At length he said, “ And 
how will you endeavor to excite the public mind ? ” 

“ I shall appeal first,” said Clayton, “ to the church and 
the ministry.” 

“ You can try it,” said his father. 

“ Why,” said Mrs. Clayton, “ these reforms are so evi- 
dently called for, by justice and humanity, and the spirit of 
the age, that I can have no do'ubt that there will be a gen- 
eral movement among all good people in their favor.” 

Judge Clayton made no reply. There are some cases 
where silence is the most disagreeable kind of dissent, be- 
cause it admits of no argument in reply. 


THE PURPOSE. 


151 


“ In my view,” said Clayton, “ the course of legal reform, 
in the first place, should remove all those circumstances in 
the condition of the slaves which tend to keep them in igno- 
rance and immorality, and make the cultivation of self- 
respect impossible ; such as the want of education, protec- 
tion in the family state, and the legal power of obtaining 
redress for injuries. After that, the next step would be 
to allow those masters who are so disposed to emancipate, 
giving proper security for the good behavior of their ser- 
vants. They might then retain them as tenants. Under this 
system, emancipation would go on gradually ; only the best 
masters would at first emancipate, and the example would 
be gradually followed. The experiment would soon demon- 
strate the superior cheapness and efficiency of the system of 
free labor ; and self-interest would then come in, to complete 
what principle began. It is only the first step that costs. 
But it seems to me that in the course of my life I have met 
with multitudes of good people, groaning in secret under 
the evils and injustice of slavery, who would gladly give 
their influence to any reasonable effort which promises in 
time to ameliorate and remove them.” 

“ The trouble is,” said Judge Clayton, “ that the system, 
though ruinous in the long run to communities, is immedi- 
ately profitable to individuals. Besides this, it is a source 
of political influence and importance. The holders of slaves 
are an aristocracy supported by special constitutional privi- 
leges. They are united against the spirit of the age by a 
common interest and danger, and the instinct of self-preser- 
vation is infallible. No logic is so accurate. 

“ As a matter of personal feeling, many slaveholders 
would rejoice in some of the humane changes which you 
propose ; but they see at once that any change endangers 
the perpetuity of the system on which their political im- 
portance depends. Therefore, they ’ll resist you at the very 
outset, not because they would not, many of them, be glad 
to have justice done, but because they think they cannot 
afford it. 


152 


THE PURPOSE. 


u They will have great patience with you — they will 
even have sympathy with you — so long as you confine 
yourself merely to the expression of feeling ; but the mo- 
ment your efforts produce the slightest movement in the 
community, then, my son, you will see human nature in a 
new aspect, and know more about mankind than you know 
now.” 

“Very well,” said Clayton, “the sooner the better.” 

“ Well, Edward,” said Mrs. Clayton, “if you are going 
to begin with the ministry, why don’t you go and talk to 
your Uncle Cushing? He is one of the most influential 
among the Presbyterians in the whole state ; and I have 
often heard him lament, in the strongest manner, the evils 
of slavery. He has told me some facts about its effect on 
the character of his church-members, both bond and free, 
that are terrible ! ” 

“Yes,” said Judge Clayton, “your brother will do all 
that. He will lament the evils of slavery in private circles, 
and he will furnish you any number of facts, if you will not 
give his authority for them.” 

“ And don’t you think that he will be willing to do some- 
thing ? ” 

“No,” said Judge Clayton, “not if the cause is unpop- 
ular.” 

“ Why,” said Mrs. Clayton, “ do you suppose that my 
brother will be deterred from doing his duty for fear of per- 
sonal unpopularity ? ” 

“No,” said Judge Clayton ; “but your brother has the 
interest of Zion on his shoulders, — by which he means the 
Presbyterian organization, — and he will say that he can’t 
afford to risk his influence. And the same will be true of 
every leading minister of every denomination. The Episco- 
palians are keeping watch over Episcopacy, the Methodists 
over Methodism, the Baptists over Baptism. None of them 
dare espouse an unpopular cause, lest the others, taking ad- 
vantage of it, should go beyond them in public favor. 


THE PURPOSE. 


153 


None of them will want the odium of such a reform as 
this.” 

“ But I don’t see any odium in it,” said Mrs. Clayton. 
“ It ’s one of the noblest and one of the most necessary of 
all possible changes.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Judge Clayton, “it will be made 
to appear extremely odious. The catch-words of abolition, 
incendiarism, fanaticism, will fly thick as hail. And the 
storm will be just in proportion to the real power of the 
movement. It will probably end in Edward’s expulsion 
from the state.” 

“ My father, I should be unwilling to think,” said Clay- 
ton, “ that the world is quite so bad as you represent it, — 
particularly the religious world.” 

“ I was not aware that I was representing it as very 
bad,” said Judge Clayton. “I only mentioned such facts 
as everybody can see about them. There are undoubtedly 
excellent men in the church.” 

“ But,” said Clayton, “ did not the church, in the primi- 
tive ages, stand against the whole world in arms ? If reli- 
gion be anything, must it not take the lead of society, and 
be its sovereign and teacher, and not its slave ? ” 

“ I don’t know as to that,” said Judge Clayton. “ I 
think you ’ll find the facts much as I have represented them. 
What the church was in the primitive ages, or what it ought 
to be now, is not at all to our purpose, in making practical 
calculations. Without any disrespect, I wish to speak of 
things just as they are. Nothing is ever gained by false 
expectations.” 

“ 0,” said Mrs. Clayton, “you lawyers get so uncharita- 
ble ! I ’m quite sure that Edward will find brother ready to 
go heart and hand with him.” 

“ I ’m sure I shall be glad of it, if he does,” said Judge 
Clayton. 

“ I shall write to him about it, immediately,” said Mrs. 
Clayton, “ and Edward shall go and talk with him. Cour- 
age, Edward I Our woman’s instincts, after all, have some 


THE PURPOSE. 


ib4 

prophetic power in tnem. At all events, we women will 
stand by you to the last.” 

Clayton sighed. He remembered the note Nina had 
written him on the day of the decision, and thought what a 
brave-hearted little creature she was ; and, like the faint 
breath of a withered rose, the shadowy remembrance of her 
seemed to say to him, “ Go on ! ” 




CHAPTER XVI. 

THE NEW MOTHER. 

The cholera at length disappeared, and the establishment 
of our old friend Tiff proceeded as of yore. His chickens 
and turkeys grew to maturity, and cackled and strutted 
joyously. His corn waved its ripening flags in the Septem- 
ber breezes. The grave of the baby had grown green with 
its first coat of grass, and Tiff was comforted for his loss, 
because, as he said, “ he knowed he ’s better off.” Miss 
Fanny grew healthy and strong, and spent many long sunny 
hours wandering in the woods with Teddy ; or, sitting out 
on the bench where Nina had been wont to read to them, 
would spell out with difficulty, for her old friend’s comfort 
and enlightenment, the half-familiar words of the wondrous 
story that Nina had brought to their knowledge. 

The interior of the poor cottage bore its wonted air of 
quaint, sylvan refinement ; and Tiff went on with his old 
dream of imagining it an ancestral residence, of which his 
young master and mistress were the head, and himself their 
whole retinue. lie was sitting in his tent door, in the cool 
of the day, while Teddy and Fanny had gone for wild grapes, 
cheerfully examining and mendihg his old pantaloons, mean- 
while recreating his soul with a cheerful conversation with 
himself. 

“ Now, Old Tiff,” said he, ** one more patch on dese yer, 
’cause it an’t much matter what you wars. Mas’r is 
allers a promising to bring home some cloth fur to make a 
more ’specable pair ; but, laws, he never does nothing he 
says he will. An’t no trusting in dat ’scription o’ people, 
ii. 14 




THE NEW MOTHEE. 


I5G 

• — jiggeting up and down de country, drinking at all do 
taverns, fetching disgrace on de fam’ly, spite o’ all I can 
do ! Mighty long time since he been home, any how I 
Should n’t wonder if de cholera ’d cotched him ! Well, 
de Lord’s will be done ! Pity to kill such critturs ! 
Would n’t muclimind if he should die. Laws, he an’t much 
profit to de family, coming home here wid lots o’ old trash, 
drinking up all my chicken-money down to ’Bijah Skin- 
flint’s ! For my part, I believe dem devils, when dey went 
out o’ de swine, went into de whiskey-bar’l. Dis yer liquor 
makes folks so ugly ! Teddy shan’t never touch none as 
long as dere ’s a drop o’ Peyton blood in my veins ! Lord, 
but dis yer world is full o’ ’spensations 1 Por, dear Miss 
Nina, dat was a doing for de chil’en ! she ’s gone up among 
de angels ! Well, bress de Lord, we must do de best we 
can, and we ’ll all land’ on de Canaan shore at last.” 

And Tiff uplifted a quavering stave of a favorite melody : 

u My brother, I have found 
The- land that doth abound 
With food as sweet as manna. 

The more I eat, I find 
The more I am inclined 
To shout and sing hosanna ! ” 

u Shoo ! shoo ! shoo 1 ” he said, observing certain long- 
legged, half-grown chickens, who were surreptitiously tak- 
ing advantage of his devotional engrossments to rush past 
him into the kitchen. 

“ ’Pears like dese yer chickens never will larn nothing ! ” 
said Tiff, finding that his vigorous “ shooing” only scared 
the whole flock in, instead of admonishing them out. So 
Tiff had to lay down his work ; and his thimble rolled one 
way, and his cake of wax another, hiding themselves under 
the leaves ; while the hens, seeing Tiff at the door, instead 
of accepting his polite invitation to walk out, acted in that 
provoking and inconsiderate way that hens generally will, 
running promiscuously up and down, flapping their wings, 


THE NEW MOTHER. 157 

>ckling, upsetting pots, kettles, and pans, in promiscuous 
ruin, Tiff each moment becoming more and more wrathful 
at their entire want of consideration. 

“ Bress me, if I ever did see any kind o’ crittur so shal- 
ler as hens ! ” said Tiff, as, having finally ejected them, he 
was busy repairing the ruin they had wrought in Miss Fan- 
ny’s fanciful floral arrangements, which were all lying in 
wild confusion. “ I tought de Lord made room in every 
beast’s head for some sense, but ’pears like hens an’t got 
de leastest grain ! Puts me out, seeing dem crawking and 
crawing on one leg, ’cause dey han’t got sense ’nough to 
Know whar to set down toder. Dey never has no idees what 
ley ’s going to do, from morning to night, I b’lieve ! But, 
den, dere ’s folks dat ’s just like ’em, dat de Lord has gin 
brains to, and dey won’t use ’em. Dey’s always settin 
round, but dey never lays no eggs. So hens an’t de wust 
critturs, arter all. And I rally don’ know what we ’d 
do widout ’em ! ” said Old Tiff, relentingly, as, appeased 
from his wrath, he took up at once his needle and his psalm, 
singing lustily, and with good courage, 

“ Perhaps you ’ll tink me wild, 

And simple as a child, 

But I ’m a child of glory ! ” 


11 Laws, now,” said Tiff, pursuing his reflections to him- 
self, “ maybe he ’s dead now, sure ’nough ! And if he is, 
why, I can do for de chil’en raal powerful. I sold right 
smart of eggs dis yer summer, and de sweet ’tatoes 
allers fetches a good price. If I could only get de chil’en 
along wid der reading, and keep der manners handsome ! 
Why, Miss Fanny, now, she ’s growing up to be raal perty. 
She got de raal Peyton look to her ; and dere ’s dis yer 
’bout gals and women, dat if dey ’s perty, why, somebody 
wants to be marrying of ’em ; and so dey gets took care 
of. I tell you, dere shan’t any of dem fellers dat he brings 
home wid him have anyting to say to her ! Peyton blood 
an’t for dor * money, I can tell ’em ! Dem fellers allers 


15b 


THE NEW MOTHER. 


find ’emselves mighty onlucky as long as I ’s round ! 
One ting or ’nother happens to ’em, so dat dey don’t want 
to come no more. Drefful por times dey has ! ” And 
Tiff shook with a secret chuckle. 

“ But, now, yer see, dere ’s never any knowing ! Dere may 
be some Peyton property coming to dese yer chil’en. I ’s 
known sich tings happen, ’fore now. Lawyers calling 
after de heirs ; and den here dey be a’ready fetched up. 
I ’s minding dat I ’d better speak to Miss Nina’s man ’bout 
dese yer chil’en ; ’cause he ’s a nice, perty man, and 
nat’rally he ’d take an interest ; and dat ar handsome sister 
of his, dat was so thick wid Miss Nina, maybe she ’d be 
doing something for her. Any way, dese yer chil’en shall 
neber come to want ’long as I ’s above ground ! ” 

Alas for the transitory nature of human expectations ! 
Even our poor little Arcadia in the wilderness, where we 
have had so many hours of quaint delight, was destined to 
feel the mutability of all earthly joys and prospects. Even 
while Tiff spoke and sung, in the exuberance of joy and secu- 
rity of his soul, a disastrous phantom was looming up from 
a distance — the phantom of Cripps’ old wagon. Cripps 
was not dead, as was to have been hoped, but returning for 
a more permanent residence, bringing with him a bride of 
his own heart’s choosing. 

Tiff’s dismay — his utter, speechless astonishment — may 
be imagined, when the ill-favored machine rumbled up to 
the door, and Cripps produced from it what seemed to be, 
at first glance, a bundle of tawdry, dirty finery ; but at last 
it turned out to be a woman, so far gone in intoxication as 
scarcely to be sensible of what she was doing. Evidently, 
she was one of the lowest of that class of poor whites whose 
wretched condition is not among the least of the evils of 
slavery. Whatever she might have been naturally, — what- 
ever of beauty or of good there might have been in the 
womanly nature within her, — lay wholly withered and 
eclipsed under the force of an education churchless, school- 
less, with all the vices of civilization without its refinements, 


THE NEW MOTHER. 


159 


and all the vices of barbarism without the occasional nobility 
by which they are sometimes redeemed. A low and vicious 
connection with this woman had at last terminated in mar- 
riage — such marriages as one shudders to think of, where 
gross animal natures come together, without even a glim- 
mering idea of the higher purposes of that holy relation. 

“ Tiff, this yer is your new mistress,” said Cripps, with 
an idiotic laugh. . “ Plaguy nice girl, too! I thought I ’d 
oring the children a mother to take care of them. Come 
along, girl ! ” 

Looking closer, we recognize in the woman our old ac- 
quaintance, Polly Skinflint. 

He pulled her forward; and she, coming in, seated herself 
on Fanny’s bed. Tiff looked as if he could have struck 
her dead. An avalanche had fallen upon him. He stood 
in the door with the slack hand of utter despair ; while she, 
swinging her heels, began leisurely spitting about her, in 
every direction, the juice of a quid of tobacco, which she 
cherished in one cheek. 

“ Durned if this yer an’t pretty well ! ” she said. “ Only 
I want the nigger to heave out that ar trash ! ” pointing to 
Fanny’s flowers. “ I don’t want children sticking no herbs 
round my house ! Hey, you nigger, heave out that trash ! ” 

As Tiff stood still, not obeying this call, the woman ap- 
peared angry ; and, coming up to him, struck him on the 
side of the head. 

“ 0, come, come, Poll !” said Cripps, “you be still ! He 
an’t used to no such ways.” 

“ Still 1 ” said the amiable lady, turning round to him. 
“You go ’long! Didn’t you tell me, if I married you, I 
should have a nigger to order round, just as I pleased ? ” 

“ Well, well,” said Cripps, who was not by any means a 
cruelly-disposed man, “I didn’t think you’d want to go 
walloping him, the first thing.” 

“I will, if he don’t shin round,” said the virago, “and 
you, too ! ” 

And this vigorous profession was further carried out by a 
u. 14* 


160 


THE NEW MOTHER. 


vigorous shove, which reacted in Cripps in the form of a 
cuff, and in a few moments the disgraceful scuffle was at 
its full height. And Tiff turned in disgust and horror from 
the house. 

" 0, good Lord ! ” he said to himself; "we doesn’t know 
what ’s Tore us ! And I ’s feeling so bad when de Lord 
took my por little man, and now I ’s ready to go down on 
my knees to thank de Lord dat he ’s took him away from de 
evil to come ! To think of my por sweet lamb, Miss Fanny, 
as I ’s been bringing up so earful ! Lord, dis yer ’s a 
heap worse dan de cholera ! ” 

It was with great affliction and dismay that he saw the 
children coming forward in high spirits, bearing between 
them a basket of wild-grapes, which they had been gather- 
ing. He ran out to meet them. 

" Laws, yer por lambs,” he said, "yer does n't know 
what’s a coming on you! Yer pa’s gone and married a 
drefful low white woman, sich as an’t fit for no Christian 
children to speak to. And now dey’s quar’ling and 
fighting in dere, like two heathens ! And Miss Nina ’s dead, 
and dere an’t no place for you to go ! ” 

And the old man sat down and actually wept aloud, while 
the children, frightened, got into his arms, and nestled close 
to him for protection, crying too. 

" What shall we do ? what shall we do ? ” said Fanny. 
And Teddy, who always repeated, reverentially, all his 
sjster’s words, said, after her, in a deplorable whimper, 
" What shall we do ? ” 

" I ’s a good mind to go off wid you in de wilderness, 
like de chil’en of Israel,” said Tiff, "though dere an’t no 
manna falling nowadays.” 

" Tiff, does marrying father make her our ma ? ” said 
Fanny. 

" No ’deed, Miss Fanny, it does n’t ! Yer ma was one 
o’ de fustest old Yirginny families. It was jist throwing 
herself ’way, marrying him ! I neber said dat ar ’fore, 
’cause it wan’t ’spectful But I don’t care now ! ” 


THE NEW MOTHER. 


161 


At this moment Cripps’ voice was heard shouting : 

“ Hallo, you Tiff ! Where is the durned nigger ? I say, 
£ome back ! Poll and I ’s made it up, now ! Bring ’long 
them children, and let them get acquainted with their 
mammy,” he said, laying hold of Fanny’s hand, and draw- 
ing her, frightened and crying, towards the house. 

“ Don’t you be afraid, child,” said Cripps ; “ I ’ve brought 
you a new ina.” 

“ We didn’t want any new ma ! ” said Teddy, in a dolo- 
rous voice. 

“ 0, yes, you do,” said Cripps, coaxing him. “ Come 
along, my little man ! There ’s your mammy,” he said, 
pushing him into the fat embrace of Polly. 

“ Fanny, go kiss your ma.” 

Fanny hung back and cried, and Teddy followed her 
example. 

“ Confound the durn young ’uns ! ” said the new-married 
lady. “I told you, Cripps, I didn’t want no brats of 
t’ other woman’s ! Be plague enough when I get some of 
my own ! ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

The once neat and happy cottage, of which Old Tiff was 
the guardian genius, soon experienced sad reverses. Polly 
Skinflint’s violent and domineering temper made her ab- 
sence from her father’s establishment rather a matter of 
congratulation to Abijah. Her mother, one of those listless 
and inefficient women, whose lives flow in a calm, muddy 
current of stupidity and laziness, talked very little about it ; 
but, on the whole, was perhaps better contented to be out 
of the range of Polly’s sharp voice and long arms. It was 
something of a consideration, in Abijah’ s shrewd view of 
things, that Cripps owned a nigger — the first point to which 
the aspiration of the poor white of the South generally 
tends. Polly, whose love of power was a predominant 
element in her nature, resolutely declared, in advance, she ’d 
make him shin round, or she ’d know the reason why. As 
to the children, she regarded them as the encumbrances 
of the estate, to be got over with in the best way possible ; 
for, as she graphically remarked, “Every durned young 
’un had to look out when she was ’bout ! ” 

The bride had been endowed with a marriage-portion, 
by her father, of half a barrel of whiskey ; and it was 
announced that Cripps was tired of trading round the coun- 
try, and meant to set up trading at home. In short, the 
little cabin became a low grog-shop, a resort of the most 
miserable and vicious portion of the community. The vio- 
lent temper of Polly soon drove Cripps upon his travels 
again, and his children were left unprotected to the fury of 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


163 


theii step-mother's temper. Every vestige of whatever was 
decent about the house and garden was soon swept away ; 
for the customers of the shop, in a grand Sunday drinking- 
bout, amused themselves with tearing down even the prai- 
rie-rose and climbing-vine that once gave a sylvan charm 
to the rude dwelling. Polly's course, in the absence of her 
husband, was one of gross, unblushing licentiousness ;'and 
the ears and eyes of the children were shocked with lan- 
guage and scenes too bad for repetition. 

Old Tiff was almost heart-broken. He could have borne 
the beatings and starvings which came on himself; but the 
abuse which came on the children he could not bear. One 
night, when the drunken orgie was raging within the house, 
Tiff gathered courage from despair. 

“ Miss Fanny," he said, “ jist go in de garret, and make 
a bundle o' sich tings as dere is, and throw 'em out o' de 
winder. I 's been a praying night and day ; and de Lord 
says He '11 open some way or oder for us ! I '11 keep 
Teddy out here under de trees, while you jist bundles up 
what por clothes is left, and throws 'em out o' de winder." 

Silently as a ray of moonlight, the fair, delicate-looking 
child glided through the room where her step-mother and 
two or three drunken men were revelling in a loathsome 
debauch. 

“ Halloa, sis ! " cried one of the men, after her, “ where 
are you going to ? Stop here, and give me a kiss ! " 

The unutterable look of mingled pride, and fear, and 
angry distress, which the child cast, as, quick as thought, 
she turned from them and ran up the ladder into the loft, 
occasioned roars of laughter. 

“ 1 say, Bill, why did n't you catch her ? " said one. 

“ 0, no matter for that," said another ; “ she '11 come of 
her own accord, one of these days." 

Fanny's heart beat like a frightened bird, as she made 
up her little bundle. Then, throwing it to Tiff, who was 
below in the dark, she called out, in a low, earnest whisper 


164 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


tl Tiff, put up that board, and I ’ll climb down on it. 1 
won’t go back among those dreadful men ! ” 

Carefully and noiselessly as possible, Tiff lifted a long, 
rough slab, and placed it against the side of the house 
Carefully Fanny set her feet on the top of it, and, spreading 
her arms, came down, like a little puff of vapor, into the 
arms of her faithful attendant. 

“ Bress de Lord ! Here we is, all right,” said Tiff. 

“ 0, Tiff, I ’m so glad ! ” said Teddy, holding fast to the 
skirt of Tiff’s apron, and jumping for joy. 

“ Yes,” said Tiff, “ all right. Now de angel of de Lord ’ll 
go with us into de wilderness ! ” 

“ There’s plenty of angels there, an’ t 'there?” said 
Teddy, victoriously, as he lifted the little bundle, with 
undoubting faith. 

“ Laws, yes!” said Tiff. “I don’ know why dere 
should n’t be in our days. Any rate, de Lord ’peared to 
me in a dream, and says he, ‘ Tiff, rise and take de chil’en 
and go in de land of Egypt, and be dere till de time I tell 
dee.’ Dem is de bery words. And ’t was ’tween de cock- 
crow and daylight dey come to me, when I ’d been lying 
dar praying, like a hail-storm, all night, not gibing de Lord 
no rest ! Says I to him, says I, 1 Lord, I don’ know nothing 
what to do ; and now, ef you was por as I be, and I was 
great king, like you, I ’d help you ! And now, Lord,’ says I, 
‘ you must help us, ’cause we an’t got no place else to go ; 
’cause, you know, Miss Nina she ’s dead, and Mr. John 
Gordon, too ! And dis yer woman will ruin dese yer 
chil’en, ef you don’t help us ! And now I hope you won’t 
be angry ! But I has to be very bold, ’cause tings have 
got so dat we can’t bar ’em no longer ! ’ Den, yer see, I 
dropped ’sleep ; and I had n’t no more ’n got to sleep, jist 
after cock-crow, when de voice come ! ” 

“ And is this the land of Egypt,” said Teddy, “ that 
we ’re going to ? ” 

“I spect so,” said Tiff. “Don’t'you know de story 
Miss Nina read to you, once, how de angel of de Lord 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


165 


'peared to Hagar in de wilderness, when she was sitting 
down under de bush. Den dere was anoder one come to 
’Lijah when he was under de juniper-tree, when he was 
wandering up and down, and got hungry, and woke up ; 
and dere, sure ’nough, was a corn-cake baking for him on 
de coals ! Don’t you mind Miss Nina was reading dat ar 
de bery last Sunday she come to our place ? Bress de Lord 
for sending her to us ! I ’s got heaps o’ good through 
dem readings.” 

“Do you think we really shall see any?” said Fanny, 
with a little shade of apprehension in her voice. “ I don’t 
know as I shall know how to speak to them.” 

“ 0, angels is pleasant-spoken, well-meaning folks, allers,” 
said Tiff, “ and don’t take no ’fence at us. Of course, dey 
knows we an’t fetched up in der ways, and dey don’t spect 
it of us. It ’s my ’pinion,” said Tiff, “ dat when folks is 
honest, and does de bery best dey can, dey don’t need to be 
’fraid to speak to angels, nor nobody else ; ’cause, you see, 
we speaks to de Lord hisself when we prays, and, bress de 
Lord, he don’t take it ill of us, no ways. And now it ’s 
borne in strong on my inind, dat de Lord is going to lead us 
through the wilderness, and bring us to good luck. Now, 
you see, I ’s going to follow de star, like de wise men did.” 

While they were talking, they were making their way 
through dense woods in the direction of the swamp, every 
moment taking them deeper and deeper into the tangled 
brush and underwood. The children were accustomed 
to wander for hours through the wood ; and, animated by 
the idea of having escaped their persecutors, followed Tiff 
with alacrity, as he went before them, clearing away the 
brambles and vines with his long arms, every once in a 
while wading with them across a bit of morass, or climb- 
ing his way through the branches of some uprooted tree. 
It was after ten o’clock at night when they started. It 
was now after midnight. Tiff had held on his course in the 
direction of the swamp, where he knew many fugitives were 


1G6 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


concealed ; and he was not without hopes of coming upon 
pome camp or settlement of them. 

About one o'clock they emerged from the more tangled 
brushwood, and stood on a slight little clearing, where a 
grape-vine, depending in natural festoons from a sweet 
gum-tree, made a kind of arbor. The moon was shining 
very full and calm, and the little breeze fluttered the grape- 
leaves, casting the shadow of some on the transparent 
greenness of others. The dew had fallen so heavily in 
that moist region, that every once in a while, as a slight 
wind agitated the leaves, it might be heard pattering from 
one to another, like rain-drops. Teddy had long been com- 
plaining bitterly of fatigue. Tiff now sat down under this 
arbor, and took him fondly into his arms. 

“ Sit down, Miss Fanny. And is Tiff's brave little man 
got tired ? Well, he shall go to sleep, dathe shall ! We 's 
got out a good bit now. I reckon dey won't find us. We 's 
out here wid de good Lord's works, and dey won't none on 
'em tell on us. So, now, hush, my por little man ; shut 
up your eyes ! " And Tiff quavered the immortal cradle- 
hymn, 

“ Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber ! 

Holy angels guard thy bed ; 

Heavenly blessings, without number, 

Gently falling on thy head.” 


In a few moments Teddy was sound asleep, and Tiff, 
wrapping him in his white great-coat, laid him down at the 
root of a tree. 

“ Bress de Lord, dere an't no whiskey here ! " he said, 
“ nor no drunken critturs to wake him up. And now, Miss 
Fanny, por chile, your eyes is a falling. Here 's dis yer 
old shawl I put up in de pocket of my coat. Wrap it round 
you, whilst I scrape up a heap of dem pine-leaves, yonder. 
Dem is reckoned mighty good for sleeping on, 'cause dey 
's so healthy, kinder. Dar, you see, I 's got a desput big 
heap of 'em." 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


167 


“I’m tired, but I ’m not sleepy,” said Fanny. “ But, 
Tiff, what are you going to do ? ” 

“ Do ! ” said Tiff, laughing, with somewhat of his old, 
joyous laugh. “Ho ! ho ! ho ! I ’s going to sit up for to 
meditate — a ’sidering on de fowls of de air, and de lilies 
in de field, and all dem dar Miss Nina used to read ’bout.” 

For many weeks, Fanny’s bed-chamber had been the hot, 
dusty loft of the cabin, with the heated roof just above her 
head, and the noise of bacchanalian revels below. Now she 
lay sunk down among the soft and fragrant pine-foliage, and 
looked up, watching the checkered roof of vine-leaves 
above her head, listening to the still patter of falling dew- 
drops, and the tremulous whirr and flutter of leaves. Some- 
times the soft night-winds swayed the tops of the pines 
with a long swell of dashing murmurs, like the breaking of 
a tide on a distant beach. The moonlight, as it came slid- 
ing down through the checkered, leafy roof, threw frag- 
ments and gleams of light, which moved capriciously here 
and there over the ground, revealing now a great silvery 
fern-leaf, and then a tuft of white flowers, gilding spots on 
the branches and trunks of the trees ; while every moment 
the deeped shadows were lighted up by the gleaming of 
fire-flies. The child would raise her head a while, and look 
on the still scene around, and then sink on her fragrant pil- 
low in dreamy delight. Everything was so still, so calm, 
so pure, no wonder she was prepared to believe that the 
angels of the Lord were to be found in the wilderness. 
They who have walked in closest communion with nature 
have ever found that they have not departed thence. The 
wilderness and solitary places are still glad for them, and 
their presence makes the desert to rejoice and blossom as 
the rose. 

When Fanny and Teddy were both asleep, Old Tiff knelt 
down and addressed himself to his prayers ; and, though 
he had neither prayer-book, nor cushion, nor formula, his 
words went right to the mark, in the best English he could 
u. 15 


168 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


command for any occasion ; and, so near as we could collect 
from the sound of his words, Tiff's prayer ran as follows : 

“ 0, good Lord, now please do look down on dese yer 
chil'en. I started 'em out, as you telled me ; and now whar 
we is to go, and whar we is to get any breakfast, I 's sure 
I don' know. But, 0 good Lord, you has got every ting 
in de world in yer hands, and it 's mighty easy for you to 
be helping on us ; and I has faith to believe dat you will. 
0, bressed Lord Jesus, dat was carried off into Egypt for 
fear of de King Herod, do, pray, look down on dese yer por 
chil'en, for I 's sure dat ar woman is as bad as Herod, any 
day. Good Lord, you 's seen how she 's been treating on 
'em ; and now do pray open a way for us through de wil- 
derness to de promised land. Everlasting — Amen." 

The last two words Tiff always added to his prayers, 
from a sort of sense of propriety, feeling as if they rounded 
off the prayer, and made it, as he would have phrased it, 
more like a white prayer. We have only to say, to those 
who question concerning this manner of prayer, that, if they 
will examine the supplications of patriarchs of ancient 
times, they will find that, with the exception of the broken 
English and bad grammar, they were in substance very 
much like this of Tiff. 

The Bible divides men into two classes : those who trust 
in themselves, and those who trust in God. The one class 
walk by their own light, trust in their own strength, fight 
their own battles, and have no confidence otherwise. The 
other, not neglecting to use the wisdom and strength which 
God has given them, still trust in his wisdom and his 
strength to carry out the weakness of theirs. The one class 
go through life as orphans ; the other have a Father. ‘ 

Tiff's prayer had at least this recommendation, that he 
felt perfectly sure that something was to come of it. Had 
he not told the Lord all about it ? Certainly he had ; and 
of course he would be helped. And this confidence Tiff 
took, as Jacob did a stone, for his pillow, as he lay down 
between his children and slept soundly. 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


169 


How innocent, soft, and kind, are all God’s works! 
From the silent shadows of the forest the tender and loving 
presence which our sin exiled from the haunts of men hath 
not yet departed. Sweet fall the moonbeams through 
the dewy leaves; peaceful is the breeze that waves the 
branches of the pines ; merciful and tender the little wind 
that shakes the small flowers and tremulous wood-grasses 
flattering over the heads of the motherless children. 0, 
thou who bearest in thee a heart hot and weary, sick and 
faint with the vain tumults and confusions of the haunts of 
men, go to the wilderness, and thou shalt find Him there 
who saith, “ As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I 
comfort you. I will be as the dew to Israel. He shall grow 
as a lily, and cast forth his roots as Lebanon.” 

Well, they slept there quietly, all night long. Between 
three and four o’clock, an oriole, who had his habitation in 
the vine above their heads, began a gentle twittering con- 
versation with some of his neighbors ; not a loud song, I 
would give you to understand, but a little, low inquiry as'to 
what o’clock it was. And then, if you had been in a still 
room at that time, you might have heard, through all the 
trees of pine, beech, holly, sweet-gum, and larch, a little, 
tremulous stir and flutter of birds awaking and stretching 
their wings. Little eyes were opening in a thousand climb- 
ing vines, where soft, feathery habitants had hung, swing- 
ing breezily, all night. Low twitterings and chirpings were 
heard ; then a loud, clear, echoing chorus of harmony an- 
swering from tree to tree, jubilant and joyous as if there 
never had been a morning before. The morning star had 
not yet gone down, nor were the purple curtains of the 
east undrawn ; and the moon, which had been shining full 
all night, still stood like a patient, late-burning light in a 
quiet chamber. It is not everybody that wakes to hear 
this first chorus of the birds. They who sleep till sunrise 
have lost it, and with it a thousand mysterious pleasures, 
— strange, sweet communings, — which, like morning dew, 
begin to evaporate when the sun rises. 


170 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


But, though Tiff and the children slept all night, we are 
under no obligations to keep our eyes shut to the fact that 
between three and four o’clock there came crackling through 
the swamps the dark figure of one whose journeyings were 
more often by night than by day. Bred had been out on 
one of his nightly excursions, carrying game, which he dis- 
posed of for powder and shot at one of the low stores we 
have alluded to. He came unexpectedly on the sleepers, 
while making his way back. His first movement, on seeing 
them, was that of surprise ; then, stooping and examining 
the group more closely, he appeared to recognize them. 
Dred had known Old Tiff before ; and had occasion to go to 
him more than once to beg supplies for fugitives in the 
swamps, or to get some errand performed which he could 
not himself venture abroad to attend to. Like others of 
his race, Tiff, on all such subjects, was so habitually and 
unfathomably secret, that the children, who knew him most 
intimately, had never received even a suggestion from him 
of the existence of any such person. 

Dred, whose eyes, sharpened by habitual caution, never 
lost sight of any change in his vicinity, had been observant 
of that which had taken place in Old Tiff’s affairs. When, 
therefore, he saw him sleeping as we have described, he 
understood the whole matter at once. He looked at the 
children, as they lay nestled at the roots of the tree, with 
something of a softened expression, muttering to himself, 
“ They embrace the Rock for shelter.” 

He opened a pouch which he wore on his side, and took 
from thence one or two corn-dodgers and half a broiled rab- 
bit, which his wife had put up for hunting provision, the 
day before ; and, laying them down on the leaves, hastened 
on to a place where he had intended to surprise some game 
in the morning. 

The chorus of birds we have before described awakened 
Old Tiff, accustomed to habits of early rising. He sat up, 
and began rubbing his eyes and stretching himself. He 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


171 


had slept well, for his habits of life had aot been such as to 
make him at all fastidious with regard to his couch. 

“ Well,” he said to himself, “ any way, dat ar woman 
won't get dese yer chil'en, dis yer day ! ” And he gave one 
of his old hearty laughs, to think how nicely he had out- 
witted her. 

“Laws,” he said to himself, “don't I hear her now! 
‘Tiff! Tiff! Tiff!' she says. Holla away, old mist'! Tiff 
don't hear yer! no, nor de chil'en eider, por blessed 
lambs ! ” 

Here, in turning to the children, his eye fell on the pro- 
visions. At first he stood petrified, with his hands lifted in 
astonishment. Had the angel been there ? Sure enough, 
he thought. 

“Well, now, bress de Lord, sure 'nough, here's de 
bery breakfast I 's asking for last night ! Well, I 
knewed de Lord would do something for us ; but I really 
did n't know as 't would come so quick ! May be ravens 
brought it, as dey did to 'Lijah — bread and flesh in de 
morning, and bread and flesh at night. Well, dis yer's 
'couraging— 't is so. I won't wake up de por little lambs. 
Let 'em sleep. Dey '11 be mighty tickled when dey comes 
fur to see de breakfast ; and, den, out here it 's so sweet 
and clean I None yer nasty 'bacca-spittins of folks dat 
does n't know how to be decent. Bress me, I 's rather tired, 
myself. I spects I 'd better camp down again, till de 
chil'en wakes. Dat ar crittur 's kep me gwine till I 's got 
pretty stiff, wid her contrary ways Spect she '11 be as 
troubled as King Herod was, and all 'Rusalem wid her ! ” 

And Tiff rolled and laughed quietly, in the security of his 
heart. 

“ I say, Tiff, where are we?'' said a little voice at his 
side. 

“ Whar is we, puppit ? " said Tiff, turning over ; “ why, 
bress yer sweet eyes, how does yer do, dis mornin ? Stretch 
away, my man ! Neber be 'fraid ; we 's in de Lord's dig- 
gins now, all safe. And de angel 's got a breakfast ready 
n. 15* 


172 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


for us, too ! " said Tiff, dirplaying the provision, which he 
had arranged on some vine-leaves. 

“ 0, Uncle Tiff, did the angels bring that ? " said Teddy. 
“ Why did n’t you wake me up ? I wanted to see them. I 
never saw an angel, in all my life ! " 

“ Nor I neider, honey. Dey comes mostly when we 's 
'sleep. But, stay, dere 's Miss Fanny, a waking up. How 
is ye, lamb ? Is ye 'freshed ? " 

“ 0, Uncle Tiff, I 've slept so sound," said Fanny ; “ and 
I dreamed such a beautiful dream ! " 

“ Well, den, tell it right off, 'fore breakfast," said Tiff, “to 
make it come true." 

“ Well," said Fanny, “ I dreamed I was in a desolate 
place, where I could n’t get out, all full of rocks and bram- 
bles, and Teddy was with me ; and while we were trying 
and trying, our ma came to us. She looked like our ma, only 
a great deal more beautiful ; and she had a strange white 
dress on, that shone, and hung clear to her feet ; and she 
took hold of our hands, and the rocks opened, and we 
walked through a path into a beautiful green meadow, full 
of lilies and wild strawberries ; and then she was gone." 

“Well," said Teddy, “maybe 'twas she who brought 
some breakfast to us. See here, what we 've got ! " 

Fanny looked surprised and pleased, but, after some con- 
sideration, said, 

“ I don’t believe mamma brought that. I don’t believe 
they have corn-cake and roast meat in heaven. If it had 
been manna, now, it would have been more likely." 

“Neber mind whar it comes from," said Tiff. “It's 
right good, and we bress de Lord for it." 

And they sat down accordingly, and ate their breakfast 
with a good heart. 

“Now," said Tiff, “ somewhar roun' in dis yer swamp 
dere 's a camp o’ de colored people ; but I don’ know rightly 
whar ’t is. If we could get dar, we could stay dar a while, 
till something or nuder should turn up. Hark! what’s 
dat ar ? " 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


173 


*T was the crack of a rifle reverberating through the 
dewy, leafy stillness of the forest. 

“ Dat ar an’t fur off,” said Tiff. 

The children looked a little terrified. 

“ Don’t you be ’fraid,” he said. “ I would n’t wonder but 
I knowed who dat ar was. Ilark, now ! ’t is somebody 
coming dis yer way.” 

A clear, exultant voice sung, through the leafy distance, 

“ 0, had I the wings of the morning, 

I ’d fly away to Canaan’s shore.” 

“ Yes,” said Tiff, to himself, “ dat ar ’s his voice. Now, 
ehil’en,” he said, “dar’s somebody coming; and you 
must n’t be ’fraid on him, ’cause I spects he ’ll get us to dat 
ar camp I ’s telling ’bout.” 

And Tiff, in a cracked and strained voice, which con- 
trasted oddly enough with the bell-like tones of the distant 
singer, commenced singing a part of an old song, which 
might, perhaps, have been used as a signal : 

u Hailing so stormily, 

Cold, stormy weder ; 

I want my true love all de day. 

Whar shall I find him ? whar shall I find him ? ” 

The distant singer stopped his song, apparently to listen, 
and, while Tiff kept on singing, they could hear the crack- 
ling of approaching footsteps. At last Dred emerged to 
view. 

“ So you ’ve fled to the wilderness ? ” he said. 

“ Yes^ yes,” said Tiff, with a kind of giggle, “ we had to 
come to it, dat ar woman was so aggravating on de chil’en. 
Of all de pizin critturs dat I knows on, dese yer mean white 
women is de pizinest ! Dey an’t got no manners, and no 
bringing up. Dey does n’t begin to know how tings ought 
fur to be done ’mong ’spec-able people. So we just tuck 
to de bush.” 

** You might have taken to a worse place, ’ said Dred. 
“ The Lord God giveth grace ar.d glory to the trees of the 


174 


THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


wood. And the time will come when the Lord will make a 
covenant of peace, and cause the evil beast to cease out 
of the land ; and they shall dwell safely in the wilderness, 
and shall sleep in the woods ; and the tree of the field 
shall yield her fruit, and they shall be safe in the land, 
when the Lord hath broken the bands of their yoke, and 
delivered them out of the hands of those that serve them- 
selves of them.” 

“ And you tink dem good times coming, sure ’nough ? ” 
said Tiff. 

“ The Lord hath said it,” said the other. “ But first the 
day of vengeance must come.” 

“ I don’t want no sich,” said Tiff. “ 1 want to live 
peaceable.” 

Dred looked upon Tiff with an air of acquiescent pity, 
which had in it a slight shade of contempt, and said, as if 
in soliloquy, 

“ Issachar is a strong ass, couching down between two 
burdens ; and he saw that rest was good, and the land that 
it was pleasant, and bowed his shoulder to bear, and became 
a servant unto tribute.” 

“ As to rest,” said Tiff, “ de Lord knows I an’t had 
much of dat ar, if I be an ass. If I had a good, strong pack- 
saddle, I ’d like to trot dese yer chil’en out in some good 
cleared place.” 

“Well,” said Dred, “you have served him that was 
ready to perish, and not bewrayed him who wandered ; ^ 
therefore the Lord will open for you a fenced city in the 
wilderness/’ 

“ Jest so,” said Tiff ; “ dat ar camp o’ yourn is jest what 
I ’s arter. I ’s willin’ to lend a hand to most anyting dat ’s 
good.” 

“ Well,” said Dred, “ the children are too tender to 
walk where we must go. We must bear them as an eagle 
beareth her young. Come, my little man ! ” 

And, as Dred spoke, he stooped down and stretched 
out his hands to Teddy. His severe and gloomy counte- 


THE PLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


, 175 


nance relaxed into a smile, and, to Tiff’s surprise, the child 
went immediately to him, and allowed him to lift him in his 
arms. 

“ Now, I ’d tought he ’d been skeered o’ you ! ” said 
Tiff. 

“ Not he ! I never raw child or dog that I could n’t make 
come to me. Hoid last, now, my little man ! ” he said, seat- 
ing the boy on his shoulder. “ Trees have long arms ; 
don’t let them rake you off. Now, Tiff,” he said, “ you 
take the girl and come after, and when we come into the 
thick of the swamp, mind you step right in my tracks. 
Mind you don’t set your foot on a tussock if I have n’t set 
mine there before you ; because the moccasons lie on the 
tussocks.” 

And thus saying, Dred and his companion began making 
their way towards the fugitive camp. 


CHAPTER X Y III. 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 

A few days found Clayton in the city of , guest of 

the Rev. Dr. Cushing. He was a man in middle life ; of 
tine personal presence, urbane, courtly, gentlemanly. Dr. 
Cushing was a popular and much-admired clergyman, stand- 
ing high among his brethren in the ministry, and almost the 
idol of a large and flourishing church. A man of warm feel- 
ings, humane impulses, and fine social qualities, his ser- 
mons, beautifully written, and delivered with great fervor, 
often drew tears from the eyes of the hearers. His pastoral 
ministrations, whether at wedding or funeral, had a peculiar 
tenderness and unction. None was more capable than he 
of celebrating the holy fervor and self-denying sufferings of 
apostles and martyrs ; none more easily kindled by those 
devout hymns which describe the patience of the saints ; 
but, with all this, for any practical emergency, Dr. Cushing 
was nothing of a soldier. There was a species of moral 
effeminacy about him, and the very luxuriant softness and 
richness of his nature unfitted him to endure hardness. 
He was known, in all his intercourse with his brethren, as 
a peace-maker, a modifier, and harmonizer. Nor did he 
scrupulously examine how much of the credit of this was 
due to a fastidious softness of nature, which made contro- 
versy disagreeable and wearisome. Nevertheless, Clayton 
was at first charmed with the sympathetic warmth with 
which he and his plans were received by his relative. He 
seemed perfectly to agree with Clayton in all his views of 
the terrible evils of the slave system, and was prompt with 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


177 


anecdotes and instances to enforce everything that he said. 
“ Clayton was just in time,” he said ; “ a number of his 
ministerial brethren were coming to-morrow, some of them 
from the northern states. Clayton should present his views 
to them.” 

Dr. Cushing’s establishment was conducted on the footing 
of the most liberal hospitality ; and that very evening the 
domestic circle was made larger by the addition of four or 
five ministerial brethren. Among these Clayton was glad 
to meet, once more, father Dickson. The serene, good 
man, seemed to bring the blessing of the gospel of peace 
with him wherever he went. 

Among others, was one whom we will more particularly 
introduce, as the Rev. Shubael Packthread. Dr. Shubael 
Packthread was a minister of a leading church, in one of 
the northern cities. Constitutionally, he was an amiable 
and kindly man, with very fair natural abilities, fairly im- 
proved by culture. Long habits, however, of theological 
and ecclesiastical controversy had cultivated a certain spe- 
cies of acuteness of mind into such disproportioned activity, 
that other parts of his intellectual and moral nature 'had 
been dwarfed and dwindled beside it. What might, under 
other circumstances, have been agreeable and useful tact, 
became in him a constant and life-long habit of stratagem. 
While other people look upon words as vehicles for 
conveying ideas, Dr. Packthread regarded them only as 
mediums for concealment. His constant study, on every 
controverted topic, was so to adjust language that, with 
the appearance of the utmost precision, it should always 
be capable of a double interpretation. He was a cunning 
master of all forms of indirection ; of all phrases by which 
people appear to say what they do not say, and not to say 
what they do say. 

He was an adept also in all the mechanism of ecclesiasti- 
cal debate, of the intricate labyrinths of heresy-hunting, of 
every scheme by which more simple and less advised breth- 
ren, speaking with ignorant sincerity, could be entrapped 


178 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


and deceived. He was au fait also in all compromise 
measures, in which two parties unite in one form of v*o»ds. 
meaning by them exactly opposite ideas, and call thv 
agreement a union. He was also expert in all those parlia- 
mentary modes, in synod or general assembly, by which 
troublesome discussions could be avoided or disposed of, 
and credulous brethren made to believe they had gained 
points which they had not gained ; by which discussions 
could be at will blinded with dusty clouds of misrepresenta- 
tion, or trailed on through interminable marshes of weari- 
ness, to accomplish some manoeuvre of ecclesiastical tactics. 

Dr. Packthread also was master of every means by which 
the influence of opposing parties might be broken, ne 
could spread a convenient report on necessary occasions, 
by any of those forms which do not assert, but which dis- 
seminate a slander quite as certainly as if they did. If it was 
necessary to create a suspicion of the orthodoxy, or of the 
piety, or even of the morality, of an opposing brother, Dr. 
Packthread understood how to do it in the neatest and most 
tasteful manner. He was an infallible judge whether it 
should be accomplished by innocent interrogations, as to 

whether you had heard “so and so of Mr. or, by 

“ charitably expressed hopes that you had not heard so and 
so or, by gentle suggestions, whether it would not be as 
well to inquire ; or, by shakes of the head, and lifts of the 
eyes, at proper intervals in conversation ; or, lastly, by 
silence when silence became the strongest as well as safest 
form of assertion. 

In person, he was rather tall, thin, and the lines of his 
face appeared, every one of them, to be engraved by caution 
and care. In his boyhood and youth, the man had had a 
trick of smiling and laughing without considering why ; 
the grace of prudence, however, had corrected all this, ne 
never did either, in these days, without understanding pre- 
cisely what he was about. His face was a part of his stock 
in trade, and he understood the management of it remark- 
ably well. He knev! precisely all the gradations of smile 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


179 


which were useful for accomplishing different purposes. 
The solemn smile, the smile of inquiry, the smile affirmative, 
the smile suggestive, the smile of incredulity, and the smile 
of innocent credulity, which encouraged the simple-hearted 
narrator to go on unfolding himself to the brother, who sat 
quietly behind his face, as a spider does behind his web, 
waiting till his unsuspecting friend had tangled himself in 
incautious, impulsive, and of course contradictory meshes 
of statement, which were, in some future hour, in the most 
gentle and Christian spirit, to be tightened around the incau- 
tious captive, while as much blood was sucked as the good 
of the cause demanded. 

It is not to be supposed that the Rev. Dr. Packthread, 
so skilful and adroit as we have represented him, failed in 
the necessary climax of such skill — that of deceiving himself. 
Far from it. Truly and honestly Dr. Packthread thought 
himself one of the hundred and forty and four thousand, 
who follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth, in whose 
mouth is found no guile. Prudence he considered the chief 
of Christian graces. He worshipped Christian prudence, and 
the whole category of accomplishments which we have 
described he considered as the fruits of it His prudence, 
in fact, served him all the purposes that the stock of the 
tree did to the ancient idolater. “ With part thereof he 
eateth flesh ; he roasteth roast, and is satisfied ; yea, he 
warmeth himself, and saith, Aha, I am warm, I have seen 
the fire : and the residue thereof he maketh a god, even his 
graven image ; he falleth down unto it, and worshippeth 
it, and prayeth unto it, and saith, Deliver me ; for thou art 
my god.” 

No doubt, Dr. Packthread expected to enter heaven by 
the same judicious arrangement by which he had lived on 
earth ; and so he went on, from year to year, doing deeds 
which even a political candidate would blush at ; violating 
the most ordinary principles of morality and honor ; while 
he sung hymns, made prayers, and administered sacra- 
ii. 16 


180 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


merits, expecting, no doubt, at last to enter heaven by some 
neat arrangement of words used in two senses. 

Dr. Packthread’s cautious agreeableness of manner 
formed a striking contrast to the innocent and a.most child- 
like simplicity with which father Dickson, in his threadbare 
coat, appeared at his side. Almost as poor in this world’s 
goods as his Master, father Dickson’s dwelling had been a 
simple one-story cottage, in all, save thrift and neatness, 
very little better than those of the poorest ; and it was 
a rare year when a hundred dollars passed through his 
hands. He had seen the time when he had not even where- 
withal to take from the office a necessary letter. He had 
seen his wife suffer for medicine and comforts, in sickness. 
He had himself ridden without overcoat through the chill 
months of winter ; but all those things he had borne as the 
traveller bears a stown on the way to his home ; and it was 
beautiful to see the unenvying, frank, simple pleasure which 
he seemed to feel in the elegant and abundant home of his 
brother, and in the thousand appliances of hospitable com- 
fort by which he was surrounded. The spirit within us that 
lusteth to envy had been chased from his bosom by the 
expulsive force of a higher love ; and his simple and un- 
studied acts of constant good-will showed that simple Chris- 
tianity can make the gentleman. Father Dickson was 
regarded by his ministerial brethren with great affection 
and veneration, though wholly devoid of any ecclesiastical 
wisdom. They were fond of using him much as they did 
their hymn-books and testaments, for their better hours of 
devotion ; and equally apt to let slip his admonitions, when 
tney came to the hard, matter-of-fact business of ecclesiasti- 
cal discussion and management; yet they loved well to 
have him with them, as they felt that, like a psalm or a text, 
his presence in some sort gave sanction to what they did. 

In due time there was added to the number of the circle our 
joyous, out-spoken friend, father Bonnie, fresh from a recent 
series of camp-meetings in a distant part of the state, and 
ready at a minute s notice for either a laugh or a prayer. 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


181 


Very little of the stereotype print of his profession had he; 
the sort of wild woodland freedom of his life giving to his 
manners and conversation a tone of sylvan roughness, of 
which Dr. Packthread evidently stood in considerable doubt. 
Father Bonnie’s early training had been that of what is 
called, in common parlance, a “ self-made man.” He waS 
unsophisticated by Greek or Latin, and had rather a con- 
tempt for the forms of the schools, and a joyous determina- 
tion to say what he pleased on all occasions. There were 
also present one or two of the leading Presbyterian minis- 
ters of the North. They had, in fact, come for a private and 
confidential conversation with Dr. Cushing concerning the 
reunion of the New School Presbyterian Church with the Old. 

It may be necessary to apprise some of our readers, 
not conversant with American ecclesiastical history, that 
the Presbyterian church of America is divided into two 
parties in relation to certain theological points, and that the 
adherents on either side call themselves old or new school. 
Some years since, these two parties divided, and each of 
them organized its own general assembly. 

It so happened that all the slaveholding interest, with 
some very inconsiderable exceptions, went into the old 
school body. The great majority of the new school body 
were avowedly anti-slavery men, according to a solemn 
declaration, which committed the whole Presbyterian church 
to those sentiments, in the year eighteen hundred and 
eighteen. And the breach between the two sections was 
caused quite as much by the difference of feeling between 
the northern and southern branches on the subject of 
slavery, as by any differences of doctrine. 

After the first jar of separation was over, thoughts of 
reunion began to arise on both sides, and to be quietly dis- 
cussed among leading minds. 

There is a power in men of a certain class of making an 
organization of any kind, whether it be political or eccle- 
siastical, an object of absorbing and individual devotion. 
Most men feel empty and insufficient of themselves, and 


182 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


find a need to ballast their own insufficiency by attaching 
themselves to something of more weight than they are. 
They put their stock of being out at interest, and invest 
themselves somewhere and in something ; and the love 
of wife or child is not more absorbing than the love of 
the bank where the man has invested himself. It is true, 
this power is a noble one ; because thus a man may pass out 
of self, and choose God, the great good of all, for his portion. 
But human weakness falls below this ; and, as the idolater 
worships the infinite and unseen under a visible symbol till 
it effaces the memory of what is signified, so men begin 
by loving institutions for God’s sake, which come at last to 
stand with them in the place of God. 

Such was the Rev. Dr. Calker. He was a man of power- 
ful though narrow mind, of great energy and efficiency, and 
of that capability of abstract devotion which makes the 
soldier or the statesman. He was earnestly and sincerely 
devout, as he understood devotion. He began with loving 
the church for God’s sake, and ended with loving her bet- 
ter than God. And, by the church, he meant the organiza- 
tion of the Presbyterian church in the United States of 
America. Her cause, in his eyes, was God’s cause ; her 
glory, God’s glory ; her success, the indispensable condi- 
tion of the millennium ; her defeat, the defeat of all that 
was good for the human race. His devotion to her was 
honest and unselfish. 

Of course Dr. Calker estimated all interests by their influ- 
ence on the Presbyterian church. He weighed every cause 
in the balance of her sanctuary. What promised extension 
and power to her, that he supported. What threatened de- 
feat or impediment, that he was ready to sacrifice. He would, 
at any day, sacrifice himself and all his interests to that cause, 
and he felt equally willing to sacrifice others and their inter- 
ests. The anti-slavery cause he regarded with a simple eye 
to this question. It was a disturbing force, weakening the 
harmony among brethren, threatening disruption and dis- 
union. He regarded it, therefore, with distrust and aversion. 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


183 


lie would read no facts on that side of the question. And 
when the discussions of zealous brethren would bring fright- 
ful and appalling statements into the general assembly, he 
was too busy in seeking what could be said t ) ward off 
their force, to allow them to have much influe ice on his 
own mind. Gradually he came to view the whole subject 
with dislike, as a pertinacious intruder in the path of the 
Presbyterian church. That the whole train of cars, laden 
with the interests of the world for all time, should be 
stopped by a ragged, manacled slave across the track, was 
to him an impertinence and absurdity. What was he, that 
the Presbyterian church should be divided and hindered for 
him ? So thought the exultant thousands who followed 
Christ, once, when the blind beggar raised his importunate 
clamor, and they bade him hold his peace. So thought 
not he, who stopped the tide of triumphant success, that 
he might call the neglected one to himself, and lay his 
hands upon him. 

Dr. Calker had from year to year opposed the agitation 
of the slavery question in the general assembly of the Pres- 
byterian church, knowing well that it threatened disunion. 
When, in spite of all his efforts, disunion came, he bent his 
energies to the task of reuniting ; and he was the most 
important character in the present caucus. 

Of course a layman, and a young man also, would feel 
some natural hesitancy in joining at once in the conversa- 
tion of those older than himself. Clayton, therefore, sat at 
the hospitable breakfast-table of Dr. Cushing rather as an 
auditor than as a speaker. 

“ Now, brother Cushing,” said Dr. Calker, “ the fact is, 
there never was any need of this disruption. It has crip- 
pled the power of the church, and given the enemy occasion 
to speak reproachfully. Our divisions are playing right 
into the hands of the Methodists and Baptists ; and ground 
that we might hold, united, is going into their hands every 
year.’* 

“ I know it,” said Dr. Cushing, “ and we Southern 

h. 16* 


184 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


brethren mourn over it, I assure you. The fact is, brother 
Calker, there ’s no such doctrinal division, after all. Why, 
there are brethren among us that are as new school as Dr. 
Draper, and we don’t meddle with them.” 

“Just so,” replied Dr. Calker; “and we have true-blue 
old school men among us.” 

“ I think,” said Dr. Packthread, “that, with suitable 
care, a document might be drawn up which will meet the 
views on both sides. You see, we must get the extreme 
men on both sides to agree to hold still. Why, now, I am 
called new school ; but I wrote a set of definitions once, 
which I showed to Dr. Pyke, who is as sharp as anybody on 
the other side, and he said, ‘ He agreed with them entirely/ 
Those N H men are incautious.” 

“ Yes,” said Dr. Calker, “ and it ’s just dividing the re- 
sources and the influence of the church for nothing. Now, 
those discussions as to the time when moral agency begins 
are, after all, of no great account in practical workings.” 

“Well,” said Dr. Cushing, “it’s, after all, nothing but _ 
the radical tone of some of your abolition fanatics that 8 *** 
stands in the way. These slavery discussions in general as- 
sembly have been very disagreeable and painful to our peo- 
ple, particularly those of the Western brethren. They don’t 
understand us, nor the delicacy of our position. They don’t 
know that we need to be let alone in order to effect any- 
thing. Now, I am for trusting to the softening, meliorating 
influences of the Gospel. The kingdom of God cometh not 
with observation. I trust that, in his mysterious provi- 
dence, the Lord will see fit, in his own good time, to remove 
this evil of slavery. Meanwhile, brethren ought to possess 
their souls in patience.” 

“ Brother Cushing,” said father Dickson, “ since the as- 
sembly of eighteen hundred and eighteen, the number of 
slaves has increased in this country four-fold. New slave 
states have been added, and a great, regular system of 
breeding and trading organized, which is filling all our large 
cities with trading-houses. The ships of our ports go oitf 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


185 


as slavers, carrying loads of miserable creatures down to 
New Orleans ; and there is a constant increase of this traffic 
through the country. This very summer I was at the death- 
bed of a poor girl, only seventeen or eighteen, who had been 
torn from all her friends and sent off with a coffle ; and she 
died there in the wilderness. It does seem to me, brother 
Cushing, that this silent plan does not answer. We are not 
half as near to emancipation, apparently, as we were in 
eighteen hundred and eighteen.” 

“ Has there ever been any attempt,” said Clayton, 
“ among the Christians of your denominations, to put a stop 
to this internal slave-trade ? ” 

“ Well,” said Dr. Cushing, “ I don’t know that there has, 
any further than general preaching against injustice.” 

“ Have you ever made any movement in the church to 
prevent the separation of families ? ” said Clayton. 

“ No, not exactly. We leave that thing to the con- 
science of individuals. The synods have always enjoined it 
m on professors of religion to treat their servant$*ACCording to 
spirit of the Gospel.” 

“ Has the church ever endeavored to influence the legis- 
lature to allow general education ? ” said Clayton. 

“ No ; that subject is fraught with difficulties,” said Dr. 
Cushing. “ The fact is, if these rabid Northern abolitionists 
would let us alone, we might, perhaps, make a movement on 
some of these subjects. But they excite the minds of our 
people, and get them into such a state of inflammation, that 
we cannot do anything.” 

During all the time that father Dickson and Clayton had 
been speaking, Dr. Calker had been making minutes with 
a pencil on a small piece of paper, for future use. It was 
always disagreeable to him to hear of slave-coffles and the 
internal slave-trade ; and, therefore, when anything was 
ever said on these topics, he would generally employ him- 
self in some other way than listening. Father Dickson he 
had known of old as being remarkably pertinacious on 
those subjects ; and, therefore, when he began to speak, he 


186 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


took the opportunity of jotting down a few ideas for a future 
exigency. He now looked up from his paper, and spoke : 

“0, those fellows are without any reason — perfectly 
wild and crazy ! They are monomaniacs ! They cannot see 
but one subject anywhere. Now, there ’s father Ruskin, of 
Ohio — there ’s nothing can be done with that man ! I have 
had him at my house hours and hours, talking to him, and 
laying it all down before him, and showing him what great 
interests he was compromising. But it did n’t do a bit of 
good. He just harps on one eternal string. Now, it's all 
the pushing and driving of these fellows in the general 
assembly that made the division, in my opinion.” 

“ We kept it off a good many years,” said Dr, Pack- 
thread ; “ and it took all our ingenuity to do it, I assure 
you. Now, ever since eighteen hundred and thirty-five, 
these fellows have been pushing and crowding in every as- 
sembly ; and we have stood faithfully in our lot, to keep the 
assembly from doing anything which could give offence to 
our Southern^rethren. We have always been particular ten 
put them forward in our public services, and to show thenr 
every imaginable deference. I think our brethren ought to 
consider how hard we have worked. We had to be instant 
in season and out of season, I can tell you. I think I may 
claim some little merit,” continued the doctor, with a cau- 
tious smile spreading over his face ; “ if I have any talent, it 
is a capacity in the judicious use of language. Now, some- 
times brethren will wrangle a whole day, till they all get 
tired and sick of a subject ; and then just let a man who 
understands the use of terms step in, and sometimes, by 
omitting a single word, he will alter the whole face of an 
affair. I remember one year those fellows were driving us 
up to make some sort of declaration about slavery. And we 
really had to do it, because it would n’t do to have the whole 
West split off ; and there was a three days’ fight, till finally 
we got the thing pared down to the lowest terms. Wo 
thought we would pass a resolution that slavery was a 
moral evil, if the Southern brethren like that better than 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


187 . 


the old way of calling it a sin, and we really were getting 
on quite harmoniously, when some of the Southern ultras 
took it up ; and they said that moral evil meant the same as 
sin, and that would imply a censure on the brethren. Well, 
it got late, and some of the hottest ones were tired and had 
gone off ; and I just quietly drew my pen across the word 
moral, and read the resolution, and it went unanimously. 
Most ministers, you see, are willing to call slavery an evil — 
the trouble lay in that word moral. Well, that capped the 
crater for that year. But, then, they were at it again the 
very next time they came together, for those fellows never 
sleep. Well, then we took a new turn. I told the brethren 
we had better get it on to the ground of the reserved rights 
of presbyteries and synods, and decline interfering. Well, 
then, that was going very well, but some of the brethren 
very injudiciously got up a resolution in the assembly 
recommending disciplinary measures for dancing. That 
was passed without much thought, because, you know, 
there ’s no great interest involved in dancing, ^and, of course, 
* there ’s nobody to oppose such a resolution then, it 

was very injudicious, under the circumstances ; for the abo 
litionists made a handle of it immediately, and wanted tc 
know why we could n’t as well recommend a discipline foi 
slavery ; because, you see, dancing is n’t a sin, per se, any 
more than slavery is ; and they have n’t done blowing their 
trumpets over us to this day.” 

Here the company rose from breakfast, and, according to 
the good old devout custom, seated themselves for family 
worship. Two decent, well-dressed black women were 
called in, and also a negro man. At father Dickson’s request, 
all united in singing the following hymn : 

“ Am I a soldier of the cross, 

A follower of the Lamb ; 

And shall I fear to own his cause, 

Or blush to speak his name ? 

Must I be carried to the skies 
On flowery beds of ease, 


188 


THE CLERIC AL CONFERENCE. 


While others fought to win the prize, 

And sailed through bloody seas ? 

Sure I must fight if I would reign ; 

Increase my courage. Lord ! 

I ’ll bear the cross, endure the shame. 

Supported by thy word. 

The saints, in all this glorious war. 

Shall conquer, though they die ; 

They see the victory from afar, 

With faith’s discerning eye. 

When that illustrious day shall rise. 

And all thine armies shine 

In robes of victory through the skies, 

The glory shall be thine.” 

Anybody who had seen the fervor with which these 
brethren now united in singing these stanzas, might have 
supposed them a company of the primitive martyrs and con- 
fessors, who, having drawn the sword and thrown away the 
scabbard, were now ready for a millennial charge on the devil 
and all his works. None sung with more heartiness than 
Dr. PackjJJgad, for his natural feelings were quick and- 
easily excited ; nor did he dream he was not a soldier of the 
cross, and that the species of skirmishes he had been de- 
scribing were not all in accordance with the spirit of the 
hymn. Had you interrogated him, he would have shown 
you a syllogistic connection between the glory of God and 
the best good of the universe, and the course he had been 
pursuing. So that, if father Dickson had supposed the 
hymn would act as a gentle suggestion, he was very much 
mistaken. As to Dr. Calker, he joined, with enthusiasm, 
applying it all the while to the enemies of the Presbyterian 
church, in the same manner as Ignatius Loyola might 
have sung it, applying it to Protestantism. Dr. Cushing 
considered the conflict described as wholly an internal one, 
and thus all joined alike in swelling the chorus : 


** A soldier for Jesus, hallelujah ! 
Love and serve the Lord.” 


THE CLERICAL CONFERENCE. 


189 


Father Dickson read from the Bible as follows : 

“ Our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our consciences, 
that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wis- 
dom, but by the grace of God, we have our conversation in 
the world.” 

Father Dickson had many gentle and quiet ways, peculiar 
to himself, of suggesting his own views to his brethren. 
Therefore, having read these verses, he paused, and asked 
Dr. Packthread “ if he did not think there was danger of 
departing from this spirit, and losing the simplicity of 
Christ, when we conduct Christian business on worldly 
principle.” 

Dr. Packthread cordially assented, and continued to the 
same purpose in a strain so edifying as entirely to exhaust 
the subject ; and Dr. Calker, who was thinking of the busi- 
ness that was before them, giving an uneasy motion here, 
they immediately united in the devotional exercises, which 
were led with great fervor by Dr. Cushing. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE RESULT. 

After the devotional services were over, Dr. Calker pro- 
ceeded immediately with the business that he had in his 
mind. “ Now, brother Cushing,” he said, “ there never 
was any instrumentality raised up by Providence to bring 
in the latter day equal to the Presbyterian church in the 
United States of America. It is the great hope of the world ; 
for here, in this country, we are trying the great experi- 
ment for all ages ; and, undoubtedly, the Presbyterian church 
comes the nearest perfection of any form of organization 
possible to our frail humanity. It is the ark of the covenant 
for this nation, and for all nations. Missionary enterprises 
to foreign countries, tract societies, home missionary, sea- 
men’s friend societies, Bible societies, Sunday-school 
unions, aP are embraced in its bosom ; and it grows in a 
free counlvy, planted by God’s own right hand, with such 
laws aod institutions as never were given to mortal man 
before It is carrying us right on to the millennium ; and all 
we want is uniat i. United, we stand the most glorious, the 
most p*‘Vf sfr] institution in the world. Now, there was no 
need for y-.rr Southern brethren to be so restive as you 
were. W'- vrore doing all we could to keep down the fire, 
and kr**-p tl ijge quiet, and you ought not to have bolted 
so. Since y ' a have separated from us, what have we done ? 
I snjMHw* vou thought we were going to blaze out in a 
regular ah liliou fury ; but you see we have n’t done it. 
We have n t d ,oe any more than when we were united. 
Just look at cur minutes, and you’ll see it. We have 


THE RESULT. 


191 


strong and determined abolitionists among us, and they are 
constantly urging and pushing. There have been great 
public excitements on the subject of slavery, and we have 
been plagued and teased to declare ourselves ; but we 
have n’t done it in a single instance — not one. You see 
that Ruskin and his clique have gone off from us, because 
we would hold still. It is true that now and then we had 
to let some anti-slavery man preach an opening sermon, or 
something of that sort ; but, then, opening sermons are 
nothing ; they don’t commit anybody ; they don’t show the 
opinion of anybody but the speaker. In fact, they don’t 
express aLy more than that declaration of eighteen hundred 
and eighteen, which stands unrepealed on your records, as 
well as on ours. Of course, we are all willing to say that 
slavery is an evil, 1 entirely inconsistent with the spirit of 
the Gospel,’ and all that, because that ’s on your own books ; 
we only agree to say nothing about it, nowadays, in our 
public capacity, because what was said in eighteen hundred 
and eighteen is all-sufficient, and prevents the odium and 
scandal of public controversy now. Now, for proof that 
what I have just said is true, look at the facts. We had 
three presbyteries in slaveholding states when we started, 
and now we have over twenty, with from fifteen to twenty 
thousand members. That must show you what our hearts 
are on this subject. And, have we not always been making 
overtures for reunion — really humbling ourselves to you, 
brethren ? Now, I say you ought to take these facts into 
account ; our slaveholding members and churches are left 
as perfectly undisturbed, to manage in their own way, as 
yours. To be sure, some of those Western men will fire 
off a remonstrance once a year, or something of that sort. 
Just let them do that ; it keeps them easy and contented. 
And, so long as there is really no interfering in the way of 
discipline or control, what harm is done ? You ought to 
bear some with the Northern brethren, unreasonable as they 
are ; and we may well have a discussion every year, to let 
cff the steam.” 
n. 17 


192 


THE RESULT. 


“ For my part/ 7 said father Bonnie, “ I want union, I m 
sure. 1 7 d tar and feather those Northern abolitionists, if 
I could get at them ! 77 

“Figuratively, I suppose/ 7 said Dr. Packthread, with a 
gentle smile. 

“ Yes, figuratively and literally too, 77 said father Bonnie, 
laughing. “ Let them come down here, and see what they 7 11 
get ! If they will set the country in a blaze, they ought to 
be the first ones to be warmed at the fire. For my part, 
brethren, I must say that you lose time and strength by 
your admissions, all of you. You don 7 t hit the buck in the 
eye. I thank the Lord that I am delivered from the bondage 
of thinking slavery a sin, or an evil, in any sense. Our abo- 
litionist brethren have done one good thing ; they have 
driven us up to examine the Scriptures, and there we find 
that slavery is not only permitted, but appointed, enjoined. 
It is a divine institution. If a Northern abolitionist comes 
at me now, I shake the Bible at him, and say, * Nay, but, 0 
man, who art thou that repliest against God ? 7 Hath not 
the potter power over the clay, to make one lump to honor, 
and another to dishonor? I tell you brethren, it blazes from 
every page of the Scriptures. You 7 11 never do anything 
till you get on to that ground. A man’s conscience is 
always hanging on to his skirts ; he goes on just like a bear 
with a trap on his legs — can 7 t make any progress that 
* way. You have got to get your feet on the rock of ages, I 
can tell you, and get the trap off your leg. There 7 s noth- 
ing like the study of the Scriptures to clear a fellow 7 e 
mind. 77 

“ Well, then, 77 said Clayton, “ would it not be well to 
repeal the laws which forbid the slaves to learn to read, and 
put the Scriptures into their hands ? These laws are the 
cause of a great deal of misery and immorality among ths 
slaves, and they furnish abolitionists with some of their 
strongest arguments. 77 

“ O, 77 said father Bonnie, “ that will never do, in the 
world I It will expose them to whole floods of abolition 


THE RESULT. 


193 


and incendiary documents, corrupt their minds, and make 
them discontented.” 

II Well,” said Dr. Cushing, “ I have read Dr. Carnes' 
book, and I must say that the scriptural argument lies, in 
my mind, on the other side.” 

“ Hang Dr. Carnes' book ! ” said father Bonnie. 

** Figuratively, I suppose,” said Dr. Packthread. 

“ Why, Dr. Carnes' much learning has made him mad ! ” 
said father Bonnie. “ I don’t believe anything that can't 
be got out of a plain English Bible. When a fellow goes 
shuffling off in a Hebrew fog, in a Latin fog, in a Greek fog, 
I say, * Ah, my boy, you are treed ! you had better come 
down ! ' Why, is it not plain enough to any reader of the 
Bible, how the apostles talked to the slaves ? They did n’t 
fill their heads with stuff about the rights of man. Now, 
see here, just at a venture,” he said, making a dive at a 
pocket-Bible that lay on the table, — “ now, just let me read 
you, - Masters , give unto your servants that which is just and 
equal. 1 Sho ! sho ! that is n't the place I was thinking of. 
It's here, * Servants , obey your masters! 1 There's into 
them, you see ! 1 Obey your masters that are in the flesh.' 

Now, these abolitionists won't even allow that we are 
masters ! ” 

“ Perhaps,” said Clayton, quietly, “ if the slaves could 
read, they 'd pay more attention to the first passage that 
you favored us with.” 

“ 0, likely,” said father Bonnie, “because, you see, their 
interests naturally would lead them to pervert Scripture. 
If it was n't for that perverting influence of self-love, I, for 
my part, would be willing enough tb put the Scriptures into 
their hands.” 

“ I suppose,” said Clayton, “ there 's no such danger in 
the case of us masters, is there ? 11 

II I say,” said father Bonnie, not noticing the interrup- 
tion, “ Cushing, you ought to read Fletcher's book. That 
book, sir, is a sweater, I can tell you ; I sweat over it, I 
know; but it does up this Greek and Hebrew woik 


194 


THE RESULT. 


thoroughly, I promise you. Though I can’t read Greek or 
Hebrew, I see there ’s heaps of it there. Why, he takes 
you clear back to the creation of the world, and drags you 
through all the history and literature of the old botherers 
of all ages, and he comes down on the fathers like forty. 
There ’s Chrysostom and Tertullian, and all the rest of those 
old cocks, and the old Greek philosophers, besides, — Plato, 
and Aristotle, and all the rest of them. If a fellow wants 
learning, there he ’ll get it. I declare, I ’d rather cut my 
way through the Dismal Swamp in dog-days I But I was 
determined to be thorough ; so I off coat, and went at it. 
And, there ’s no mistake about it, Cushing, you must get 
the book. You ’ll feel so much better, if you ’ll settle your 
mind on that point. I never allow myself to go trailing 
along with anything hanging by the gills. I am an out-and- 
outer. Walk up to the captain’s office, and settle ! That s 
what I say.” 

“ We shall all have to do that, one of these days,” said 
father Dickson, “and maybe we shall find it one thing to 
settle with the clerk, and another to settle with the cap- 
tain ! ” 

“ Well, brother Dickson, you need n’t look at me with 
any of your solemn faces! I ’m settled, now.” 

“For my part,” said Dr. Packthread, “I think, instead 
of condemning slavery in the abstract, we ought to direct 
our attention to its abuses.” 

“ And what do you consider its abuses ? ” said Clayton. 

“ Why, the separation of families, for instance,” said Dr. 
Packthread, “ and the forbidding of education.” 

“You think, then,” said Clayton, “that the slave ought 
to have a legal right to his family ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Of course, he ought to have the legal means of main 
taining it?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then, of course, he ought to be able to enter suit 


THE RESULT. 


195 


when this right is violated, and to bear testimony in a court 
of justice ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And do you think that the master ought to give him 
what is just and equal, in the way of wages ? ” 

“Certainly, in one shape or another,” said Dr. Pack 
thread. 

“ And ought the slave to have the means of enforcing this 
right ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Then the slave ought to be able to hold property ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And he should have the legal right to secure education, 
if he desires it ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well,” said Clayton, “ when the slave has a legal exist- 
ence and legal rights, can hold property and defend it, 
acquire education and protect his family relations, he ceases 
to be a slave ; for, slavery consists in the fact of legal 
incapacity for any of these things. It consists in mak- 
ing a man a dead, inert substance in the hands of another, 
holding men pro nullis, pro mortuis. What you call reform- 
ing abuses, is abolishing slavery. It is in this very way 
that I wish to seek its abolition, and I desire the aid of 
the church and ministry in doing it. Now, Dr. Pack- 
thread, what efforts has the church as yet made to reform 
these abuses of slavery ? ” 

There was a silence of some minutes. At last Dr. Cush- 
ing replied, 

“ There has been a good deal of effort made in oral reli- 
gious instruction.” 

“ 0, yes,” said father Bonnie, “ our people have been at 
it with great zeal in our part of the country. I have a class, 
myself, that I have been instructing in the Assembly’s Cat- 
echism, -in the oral way ; and the synods have taken it up, 
and they are preaching the Gospel to them, and writing 
catechisms for them.” 
n. It* 


196 


THE RESULT. 


“ But/’ said Clayton, “would it not be best to give them 
a legal ability to obey the Gospel ? Is there any use in 
teaching the sanctity of marriage, unless you obtain for 
husbands and wives the legal right to live faithful to each 
other ? It seems to me only cruelty to awaken conscience 
on that subject, without giving the protection and assistance 
of law.” 

“What he says is very true,” said Dr. Cushing, with 
emphasis. “We ministers are called to feel the necessity 
of that with regard to our slave church-members. You 
see, we are obliged to preach unlimited obedience to mas- 
ters ; and yet, — why, it was only last week, a very excel- 
lent pious mulatto woman in my church came to me to know 
what she should do. Her master was determined she 
should live with him as a mistress ; yet she has a husband 
on the place. How am I to advise her ? The man is a 
very influential man, and capable of making a good deal of 
commotion ; besides which, she will gain nothing by resist- 
ance, but to be sold away to some other master, who will do 
worse. Now, this is a very trying case to a minister. 
I ’m sure, if anything could be done, I ’d be glad ; but the 
fact is, the moment a person begins to move in the least to 
reform these abuses, he is called an abolitionist, and the 
whole community is down on him at once. That ’s the state 
these northern fanatics have got us into.” 

“ 0, yes,” said Dr. Baskum, a leading minister, who had 
recently come in. “ Besides, a man can’t do everything ! 
We ’ve got as much as we can stagger under on our shoul- 
ders, now. We ’ve got the building up of the church to 
attend to. That ’s the great instrumentality which at last 
will set everything straight. We must do as the apostles 
did, — confine ourselves to preaching the Gospel, and the 
Gospel will bring everything else in its train. The world 
can’t be made over in a day. We must do one thing at a 
time. We can’t afford, just at present, to tackle in with all 
our other difficulties the odium and misrepresentation of 
such a movement. The minute we begin to do anything 


THE RESULT. 


197 


which looks like restraining the rights 01 masters, the cry 
of church and state and abolition will be raised, and we 
shall be swamped ! ” 

“ But,” said father Dickson, “ is n’t it the right way first 
to find out our duty and do it, and then leave the result with 
God ? Ought we to take counsel of flesh and blood in mat- 
ters like these ? ” 

“ Of course not,” said Dr. Packthread. “ But there is 
a wise way and an unwise way of doing things. We are 
to consider the times, and only undertake such works as the 
movements of Divine Providence seem to indicate. I don’t 
wish to judge for brethren. A time may come when it will 
be their duty to show themselves openly on this subject ; 
but, in order to obtain a foothold for the influences of the 
Gospel to work on, it may be necessary to bear and forbear 
with many evils. Under the present state of things, I hope 
many of the slaves are becoming hopefully pious. Brethren 
seem to feel that education will be attended with dangers. 
Probably it might. It would seem desirable to secure the 
family relations of the slaves, if it could be done without 
too much sacrifice of more important things. After all, the 
kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ is not of this world. The 
apostles entered no public protest against the abuses of 
slavery, that we read of.” 

“ It strikes me,” said Clayton, 11 that there is a difference 
between our position under a republican government, — in 
which we vote for our legislators, and, in fact, make the. 
laws ourselves, and have the admitted right to seek their 
repeal, — and that of the apostles, who were themselves 
slaves, and could do nothing about the laws. We make 
our own laws, and every one of us is responsible for any 
unjust law which we do not do our best to alter. We have 
the right to agitate, write, print, and speak, and bring up 
the public mind to the point of reform ; and, therefore, we 
are responsible if unjust laws are not repealed.” 

“ Well,” said father Dickson, “ God forgive me that I 
have been so remiss in times past ! Henceforth, whatever 


198 


THE RESULT. 


others may do, I will not confer with flesh and blood ; but I 
will go forth and declare the word of the Lord plainly to 
this people, and show unto the house of Judah their trans- 
gressions. And now I have one thing to say to our dear 
Northern brethren. I mourn over the undecided course 
which they take. Brethren in slave states are beset with 
many temptations. The whole course of public opinion is 
against them. They need that their Northern brethren 
should stand firm, and hold up their hands. Alas ! how dif- 
ferent has been their course ! Their apologies for this 
mighty sin have weakened us more than all things put 
together. Public opinion is going back. The church is be- 
coming corrupted. Ministers are drawn into connivance 
with deadly sin. Children and youth are being ruined by 
habits of early tyranny. Our land is full of slave-prisons ; 
and the poor trader — no man careth for his soul! Our 
poor whites are given up to ignorance and licentiousness ; 
and our ministers, like our brother Bonnie, here, begin to 
defend this evil from the Bible. Brother Calker, here, talks 
of the Presbyterian church. Alas! in her skirts is found 
the blood of poor innocents, and she is willing, for the sake 
of union, to destroy them for whom Christ died. Brethren, 
you know not what you do. You enjoy the blessing of liv- 
ing in a land uncursed by any such evils. Your churches, 
3 our schools, and all your industrial institutions, are going 
forward, while ours are going backward ; and you do not 
feel it, because you do not live among us. But take care ! 
One part of the country cannot become demoralized, without, 
at last, affecting the other. The sin you cherish and 
b lengthen by your indifference, may at last come back in 
judgments that may visit even you. I pray God to avert it ! 
But, as God is just, I tremble for you and for us ! Well, 
good-by, brethren; I must be on my way. You will not 
listen to me, and my soul cannot come into your counsels.” 

And father Dickson rose to depart. 

“ 0, come, come, now, brother, don’t take it so seriously ! ” 


THE RESULT. 


199 


said Dr. Cushing. “ Stay, at least, and spend the day with 
us, and let us have a little Christian talk.” 

“ I must go,” said father Dickson. “ I have an appoint- 
ment to preach, which I must keep, for this evening, and so 
I must bid you farewell. I hoped to do something by com- 
ing here ; but I see that it is all in vain. Farewell, brethren ; 
I shall pray for you.” 

“ Well, father Dickson, I should like to talk more with 
you on this subject,” said Dr. Cushing. “ Do come again. 
It is very difficult to see the path of duty in these mat- 
ters.” 

Poor Dr. Cushing was one of those who are destined, like 
stationary ships, forever to float up and down in one spot, 
only useful in marking the ebb and flood of the tide. Af- 
fection, generosity, devotion, he had — everything but the 
power to move on. 

Clayton, who had seen at once that nothing was to be 
done or gained, rose, and said that his business was also 
pressing, and that he would accompany father Dickson on 
his way. 

“ What a good fellow Dickson is ! ” said Cushing, after 
he returned to the room. 

“He exhibits a very excellent spirit,” said Dr. Pack- 
thread. 

“ 0, Dickson would do well enough,” said Dr. Calker, 
“if he was n’t a monomaniac. That’s what’s the matter 
with him I But when he gets to going on this subject, I 
never hear what he says. I know it ’s no use to reason 
with him — entirely time lost. I have heard all these 
things over and over again.” 

“But I wish,” said Dr. Cushing, “something could be 
done.” 

“ Well, who does n’t ? ” said Dr. Calker. “ We all wish 
something could be done ; but, if it can’t, it can’t ; there ’s 
the end of it. So now let us proceed, and look into busi- 
ness a little more particularly.” 

“After all,” said Dr. Packthread, “you old school breth- 


200 


THE RESULT. 


ren have greatly the advantage of us. Although you have 
a few poor good souls, like this Dickson, they are in so in- 
significant a minority that they can do nothing — can’t even 
get into the general assembly, or send in a remonstrance, 
or petition, or anything else ; so that you are never plagued 
as we are. We cannot even choose a moderator from the 
slaveholding states, for fear of an explosion ; but you can 
have slaveholding moderators, or anything else that will 
promote harmony and union.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE SLATE’S ARGUMENT. 

On his return home, Clayton took from the post-office a 
letter, which we will give to our readers. 

“ Mr. Clayton : I am now an outcast. I cannot show 
my face in the world, I cannot go abroad by daylight ; for 
no crime, as I can see, except resisting oppression. Mr. 
Clayton, if it were proper for your fathers to fight and shed 
blood for the oppression that came upon them, why is n’t it 
right for us ? They had not half the provocation that we 
have. Their wives and families were never touched. They 
were not bought, and sold, and traded, like cattle in the 
market, as we are. In fact, when I was reading that his- 
tory, I could hardly understand what provocation they did 
have. They had everything easy and comfortable about 
them. They were able to support their families, even in 
luxury. And yet they were willing to plunge into war, and 
shed blood. I have studied the Declaration of Independ- 
ence. The things mentioned there were bad and uncom- 
fortable, to be sure ; but, after all, look at the laws which 
are put over us! Now, if they had forbidden them to 
teach their children to read, — if they had divided them all 
out among masters, and declared them incapable of holding 
property as the mule before the plough, — there would have 
been some sense in that revolution. 

“ Well, how was it with our people in South Carolina ? 
Denmark Vesey was a man ! His history is just what 
George Washington’s would have been, if you had failed. 


THE SLAVE'S ARGUMENT. 


soa 

What set him on in his course ? The Bible and your Declara- 
tion of Independence. What does your Declaration say ? 
‘ We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are 
created equal ; that they are endowed by their Creator with 
certain inalienable rights : that among these are life, liberty, 
and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights 
governments are instituted among men. That whenever 
any form of government becomes destructive of any of these 
ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it . 1 
Now, what do you make of that ? This is read to us, 
every Fourth of July. It was read to Denmark Yesey and 
Peter Poyas, and all those other brave, good men, who 
dared to follow your example and your precepts. Well, 
they failed, and your people hung them. And they said 
they could n’t conceive what motive could have induced 
them to make the effort. They had food enough, and 
clothes enough, and were kept very comfortable. Well, 
had not your people clothes enough, and food enough ? and 
would n’t you still have had enough, even if you had re- 
mained a province of England to, this day, — much better 
living, much better clothes, and much better laws, than we 
have tb-day ? I heard your father’s interpretation of the 
law ; I heard Mr. Jekyl’s ; and yet, when men rise up 
against such laws, you wonder what in the world could have 
induced them ! That ’s perfectly astonishing ! 

“ But, of all the injuries and insults that are heaped upon 
us, there is nothing to me so perfectly maddening as the 
assumption of your religious men, who maintain and defend 
this enormous injustice by the Bible. We have all the right 
to rise against them that they had to rise against England. 
They tell us the Bible says, ‘ Servants, obey your masters. ’ 
Well, the Bible says, also, ‘ The powers that be are ordained 
of God, and whoso resisteth the power, resisteth the ordi- 
nance of God.’ If it was right for them to resist the ordi- 
nance of God, it is right for us. If the Bible does justify 
slavery, why don’t they teach the slave to read it ? And 
what ’s the reason that two of the greatest insurrections 


THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT. 


203 


came from men who read scarcely anything else but the 
Bible ? No, the fact is, they don’t believe this themselves. 
If they did, they would try the experiment fairly of giving 
the Bible to their slaves. I can assure you the Bible looks 
as different to a slave from what it does to a master, as 
everything else in the world does. 

“ Now, Mr. Clayton, you understand that when I say 
you, along here, I do not mean you personally, but the gen- 
erality of the community of which you are one. I want 
you to think these things over, and, whatever my future 
course may be, remember my excuse for it is the same as 
that on which your government is built 

“ I am very grateful to you for all your kindness. Per- 
haps the time may come when I shall be able to show my 
gratitude. Meanwhile, I must ask one favor of you, which 
I think you will grant for the sake of that angel who is 
gone. I have a sister, who, as well as myself, is the child 
of Tom Gordon’s father. She was beautiful and good, and 
her owner, who had a large estate in Mississippi, took her 
to Ohio, emancipated and married her. She has two chil- 
dren by him, a son and a daughter. He died, and left his 
estate to her and her children. Tom Gordon is the heir-at- 
law. He has sued for the property, and obtained it. The 
act of emancipation has been declared null and void, and 
my sister and her children are in the hands of that man, 
with all that absolute power ; and they have no appeal from 
him for any evil whatever. She has escaped his hands, so 
she wrote me once ; but I have heard a report that he has 
taken her again. The pious Mr. Jekyl will knov all about 
it. Now, may I ask you to go to him, and make inquiries, 
and let me know ? A letter sent to Mr. James Twi+chel, at 
the post-office near Canema, where our letters used to be 
taken, will get to me. By doing this favor, you will secure 
my eternal gratitude. Harry Gordon ” 

Clayton read this letter with some surprise, and a good 
deal of attention. It was written on very coarse pap«* f 
ii. 18 


204 : 


THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT. 


such as is commonly sold at the low shops. Where Harry 
was, and how concealed, was to him only a matter of con- 
jecture. But the call to render him any assistance was a 
sacred one, and he determined on a horseback excursion to 
E., the town where Mr. Jekyl resided. 

He found that gentleman very busy in looking over and 
arranging papers in relation to that large property which 
had just come into Tom Gordon’s hands. He began by 
stating that the former owner of the servants at Canema 
had requested him, on her death-bed, to take an interest in 
her servants. He had therefore called to ascertain if any- 
thing had been heard from Harry. 

‘'Not yet,” said Mr. Jekyl, pulling up his shirt-collar. 
“ Our plantations in this vicinity are very unfortunate in 
their proximity to the swamp. It’s a great expense of 
time and money. Why, sir, it ’s inconceivable, the amount 
of property that ’s lost in that swamp I I have heard it esti- 
mated at something like three millions of dollars ! We fol- 
low them up with laws, you see. They are outlawed regu- 
larly, after a certain time, and then the hunters go in and 
chase them down ; sometimes kill two or three a day, or 
something like that. But, on the whole, they don’t effect 
much.” 

“ Well,” said Clayton, who felt no disposition to enter 
into any discussion with Mr. Jekyl, “so you think he is 
there ? ” 

“ Yes, I have no doubt of it. The fact is, there ’s a fellow 
that ’s been seen lurking about this swamp, off and on, for 
years and years. Sometimes hq is n’t to be seen for 
months ; and then again he is seen or heard of, but never so 
that anybody can get hold of him. I have no doubt the 
niggers on the plantation know him ; but, then, you can 
never get anything out of them. 0, they are deep 1 They 
are a dreadfully corrupt set ! ” 

“Mr. Gordon has, I think, a sister of Harry’s, who 
came in with this new estate,” said Mr. Clayton. 

“ Yes, yes,” said Mr. Jekyl. “ She has' given us a good 


THE SLATE’S ARGUMENT. 


205 


deal of trouble, too. She got away, and went off to Cin- 
cinnati, and I had to go up and hunt her out. It was really 
a great deal of trouble and expense. If I had n’t been 
assisted by the politeness and kindness of the marshal and 
brother officers, it would have been very bad. There is a 
good deal of religious society, too, i a Cincinnati ; and so, 
while I was waiting, I attended anniversary meetings.” 

“ Then you did succeed,” said Clayton. “ I came to see 
whether Mr. Gordon would listen to a proposition for selling 
her.” 

“ 0, he has sold her ! ” said Mr. Jekyl. “ She is at Al- 
exandria, now, in Beaton & Burns’ establishment.” 

** And her children, too ? ” 

“ Yes, the lot. I claim some little merit for that, myself. 
Tom is a fellow of rather strong passions, and he was terri- 
bly angry for the trouble she had made. I don’t know what 
he would have done to her, if I had n’t talked to him. But 
I showed him some debts that could n’t be put off any longer 
without too much of a sacrifice ; and, on the whole, I per- 
suaded him to let her be sold. I have tried to exert a 
good influence over him, in a quiet way,” said Mr. Jekyl. 
“ Now, if you want to get the woman, like enough she may 
not be sold, as yet.” 

Clayton, having thus ascertained the points which he 
wished to know, proceeded immediately to Alexandria. 
When he was there, he found a considerable excitement. 

“A slave-woman,” it was said, “ who was to have been sent 
off in a coffle the next day, had murdered her two children.” 

The moment that Clayton heard the news, he felt an in- 
stinctive certainty that this woman was Cora Gordon. He 
went to the magistrate’s court, where the investigation was 
being held, and found it surrounded by a crowd so dense 
that it was with difficulty he forced his way in. At the bar 
he saw seated a woman dressed in black, whose face, hag- 
gard and wan, showed yet traces of former beauty. The 
splendid dark eyes had a peculiar and fierce expression. 
The thin lines of the face were settled into an immovable 


206 


THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT. 


fixedness of calm determination. There was even an air of 
grave, solemn triumph on her countenance. She appeared 
to regard the formalities of the court with the utmost indif- 
ference. At last she spoke, in a clear, thrilling, distinct 
voice : 

“ If gentlemen will allow me to speak, I ’ll save them the 
trouble of that examination of witnesses. It ’s going a long 
way round to find out a very little thing.” 

There was an immediate movement of curiosity in the 
whole throng, and the officer said, 

“You are permitted to speak.” 

She rose deliberately, untied her bonnet-strings, looked 
round the whole court, with a peculiar but calm expression 
of mingled triumph and power. 

“You want to know,” she said, “who killed those chil- 
dren ! Well, I will tell you ; ” and again her eyes travelled 
round the house, with that same strong, defiant expression ; 
“ I killed them ! ” 

There was a pause, and a general movement through the 
house. 

“Yes,” she said, again, “I killed them ! And, 0, how 
glad I am that I have done it! Do you want to know what 
I killed them for ? Because I loved them ! — loved them so 
well that I was willing to give up my soul to save theirs ! 
I have heard some persons say that I was in a frenzy, ex- 
cited, and did n’t know what I was doing. They are mis- 
taken. I was not in a frenzy ; I was not excited ; and I 
did know what I was doing ! and I bless God that it is 
done! I was born the slave of my own father. Your old 
proud Virginia blood is in my veins, as it is in half of those 
you whip and sell. I was the lawful wife of a man of honor, 
who did what he could to evade your cruel laws, and set me 
free. My children were born to liberty ; they were brought 
up to liberty, till my father’s son entered a suit for us, and 
made us slaves. J udge and jury helped him — all your laws 
and your officers helped him — to take away the rights of 
the widow ana the fatherless ! The judge said that my 


THE SLAVEYS ARGUMENT. 


207 


Eon, being a slave, could no more hold property than the 
mule before his plough ; and we were delivered into Tom 
Gordon’s nands. I shall not say what he is. It is not fit to 
be said. God will show at the judgment-day. But I es- 
caped, with my children, to Cincinnati. He followed me 
there, and the laws of your country gave me back to him. 
To-morrow I was to have gone in a coffle and leave these 
children - — my son a slave for life — my daughter — ” She 
looked round the court-room with an expression which said 
more than words could have spoken. “ So I heard them say 
their prayers and sing their hymns, and then, while they 
were asleep and did n’t know it, I sent them to lie down 
in green pastures with the Lord. They say this is a dread- 
ful sin. It may be so. I am willing to lose my soul to have 
theirs saved. I have no more to hope or fear. It’s all 
nothing, now, where I go or what becomes of me. But, at 
any rate, they are safe. And, now, if any of you mothers, 
in my place, would n’t have done the same, you either 
don’t know what slavery is, or you don’t love your children 
as I have loved mine. This is all.” 

She sat down, folded her arms, fixed her eyes on the floor, 
and seemed like a person entirely indifferent to the further 
opinions and proceedings of the court. 

She was remanded to jail for trial. Clayton determined, 
in his own mind, to do what he could for her. Her own 
declaration seemed to make the form of a trial unnecessary, 
ne resolved, however, to do what he could to enlist for 
her the sympathy of some friends of his in the city. 

The next day he called, with a clergyman, and requested 
permission to see her. When they entered her cell, she 
rose to receive them with the most perfect composure, as if 
they had called upon her in a drawing-room. Clayton intro- 
duced his companion as the Rev. Mr. Denton. There was 
an excited flash in her eyes, but she said, calmly, 

“ Have the gentlemen business with me?” 

“We called,” said the clergyman, “to see if we could 
render you any assistance.” 
ii. 18 * 


208 


THE SLAVE’S AEGUMENT. 


“ No, sir, you cannot ! ” was the prompt reply. 

“ My dear friend,” said the clergyman, in a very kind 
tone, “ I wish it were in my power to administer to you the 
consolations of the Gospel.” 

“I have nothing to do,” she answered, firmly, “with 
ministers who pretend to preach the Gospel, and support 
oppression and robbery ! Your hands are defiled with 
blood I — so don’t come to me 1 I am a prisoner, here, and 
cannot resist. But, when I tell you that I prefer to be 
left alone, perhaps it may have some effect, even if I am a 
slave 1 ” 

Clayton took out Harry’s letter, handed it to her, and 
said : 

“ After you have read this, you will, perhaps, receive me, 
if I should call again to-morrow, at this hour.” 

The next day, when Clayton called, he was conducted 
by the jailer to the door of the cell. 

“ There is a lady with her now, reading to her.” 

“ Then I ought not to interrupt her,” said Clayton, hesi- 
tating. 

“ 0, I suspect it would make no odds,” said the jailer. 

Clayton laid his hand on his to stop him. The sound 
that came indistinctly through the door was the voice of 
prayer. Some woman was interceding, in the presence of 
eternal pity, for an oppressed and broken-hearted sister. 
After a few moments the door was partly opened, and he 
heard a sweet voice, saying : 

“ Let me come to you every day, may I ? I know what 
it is to suffer.” 

A smothered sob was the only answer ; and then fol- 
lowed words, imperfectly distinguished, which seemed 
to be those of consolation. In a moment the door was 
opened, and Clayton found himself suddenly face to face 
with a lady in deep mourning. She was tall, and largely 
proportioned ; the outlines of her face strong, yet beauti- 
ful, and now wearing the expression which comes from 
communion with the highest and serenest nature. Both 


THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT. 


209 


^ere embarrassed, and made a momentary pause. In the 
start she dropped one of her gloves. Clayton picked it up, 
handed it to her, bowed, and she passed on. By some sin- 
gular association, this stranger, with a serious, radiant face, 
suggested to him the sparkling, glittering beauty of Nina ; 
and it seemed, for a moment, as if Nina was fluttering by 
’.am in the air, and passing away after her. When he ex- 
amined the emotion more minutely afterwards, he thought, 
perhaps, it might have been suggested by the perception, 
as he lifted the glove, of a peculiar and delicate perfume, 
which Nina was fond of using. So strange and shadowy 
are the influences which touch the dark, electric chain of 
our existence. 

When Clayton went into the cell, he found its inmate in a 
softened mood. There were traces of tears on her cheek, 
and an open Bible on the bed ; but her appearance was 
calm and self-possessed, as usual. She said : 

“ Excuse my rudeness, Mr. Clayton, at your last visit. 
We cannot always command ourselves to do exactly what 
we should. I thank you very much for your kindness to 
us. There are many who are kindly disposed towards us ; 
but it’s very little that they can do.” 

“ Can I be of any assistance in securing counsel for 
you ? ” said Clayton. 

tl I don’t need any counsel. I don’t wish any,” said she. 
“I shall make no effort. Let the law take its course. If 
you ever should see Harry, give my love to him — that ’s 
all ! And, if you can help him, pray do ! If you have 
time, influence, or money to spare, and can get him to any 
country where he will have the common rights of a human 
being, pray do, and the blessing of the poor will come 
on you ! That ’s all I have to ask.” 

Clayton rose to depart. He had fulfilled the object of his 
mission. He had gained all the information, and more than 
all, that he wished. He queried with himself whether it 
were best to write to Harry at all. The facts that he had 
to relate were such as were calculated to kindle to a fiercer 


210 


THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT. 


flame the excitement which was now consuming him. He 
trembled, when he thought of it, lest that excitement should 
blaze out in forms which should array against him, with 
still more force, that society with which he was already 
at war. Thinking, however, that Harry, perhaps, might 
obtain the information in some less guarded form, he sat 
down and wrote him the following letter : 

“ I have received your letter. I need not say that I am 
sorry for all that has taken place — sorry for your sake, 
and for the sake of one very dear both to me and to you. 
Harry, I freely admit that you live in a state of society 
which exercises a great injustice. I admit your right, and 
that of all men, to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 
I admit the right of an oppressed people to change their 
form of government, if they can. I admit that your people 
suffer under greater oppression than ever our fathers suf- 
fered. And, if I believed that they were capable of obtain- 
ing and supporting a government, I should believe in their 
right to take the same means to gain it. But I do not, at 
present ; and I think, if you will reflect on the subject, 
you will agree with me. I do not think that, should they 
make an effort, they would succeed. They would only 
embitter the white race against them, and destroy that 
sympathy which many are beginning to feel for their op- 
pressed condition. I know it seems a very unfeeling thing 
for a man who is at ease to tell one, who is oppressed and 
suffering, to be patient ; and yet I must even say it. It is 
my place, and our place, to seek repeal of the unjust laws 
which oppress you. I see no reason why the relation of 
master and servants may not be continued through our 
states, and the servants yet be free men. I am satisfied 
that it would be for the best interests of master as well as 
slave. If this is the truth, time will make it apparent, and 
the change will come. With regard to you, the best coun- 
sel I can give is, that you try to escape to some of the 
northern states ; and I will furnish you with means to begin 


THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT. 


211 


life there under better auspices. I am very sorry that I 
have to tell you something very painful about your sister. 
She was sold to a trading-house in Alexandria, and, in des- 
peration, has killed both her children ! For this she is now 
in prison, awaiting her trial ! I have been to see her, and 
offered every assistance in my power. She declines all. 
She does not wish to live, and has already avowed the 
fact ; making no defence, and wishing none to be made for 
her. Another of the bitter fruits of this most unrighteous 
system ! She desired her love and kind wishes to you. 
Whatever more is to be known, I will tell you at some 
future time. 

“ After all that I have said to you in this letter, I cannot 
help feeling, for myself, how hard, and cold, and insufficient, 
it must seem to you ! If I had such a sister as yours, and 
her life had been so wrecked, I feel that I might not have 
patience to consider any of these things ; and I am afraid 
you will not. Yet I feel this injustice to my heart. I feel 
it like a personal affliction ; and, God helping me, I will 
make it the object of my life to remedy it ! Your sister’s 
trial will not take place for some time ; and she has friends 
who do all that can be done for her.” 

Clayton returned to his father’s house, and related the 
result of his first experiment with the clergy. 

“ Well, now,” said Mrs. Clayton, “I must confess I was 
not prepared for this.” 

" I was,” said Judge Clayton. “It’s precisely what I 
expected. You have tried the Presbyterians, with whom 
our family are connected ; and now you may go successively 
to the Episcopalians, the Methodists, the Baptists, and you 
will hear the same story from them all. About half of 
them defend the thing from the Bible, in the most unblush- 
ing, disgusting manner. The other half acknowledge and 
lament it as an evil ; but they are cowed and timid, and 
can do nothing.” 

“ Well,” said Clayton, “ the greatest evidence to my 


212 


THE SLAVE’S ARGUMENT. 


mind of the inspiration of the Scriptures is, that they are 
yet afloat, when every new absurdity has been successively 
tacked to them .’ 7 

“ But , 77 said Mrs. Clayton, “ are there no people that are 
faithful ? 77 

“ None in this matter that I know of , 77 said Judge Clay- 
ton, “except the Covenanters and the Quakers among us, 
and the Free-will Baptists and a few others at the North. 
And their number and influence is so small, that there can 
be no great calculation made on them for assistance. Of 
individuals, there are not a few who earnestly desire to do 
something ; but they are mostly without faith or hope, like 
me. And, from the communities — from the great organiza- 
tions in society — no help whatever is to be expected . 77 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE DESERT. 

There is no study in human nature more interesting than 
the aspects of the same subject seen in the points of view 
of different characters. One might almost imagine that 
there were no such thing as absolute truth, since a change 
of situation or temperament is capable of changingthe whole 
force of an argument. We have been accustomed, even 
those of us who feel most, to look on the arguments for and 
against the system of slavery with the eyes of those who 
are at ease. We do not even know how fair is freedom, for 
we were always free. We shall never have all the materials 
for absolute truth on this subject, till we take into account, 
■mth our own views and reasonings, the views and reason- 
ings of those who have bowed down to the yoke, and felt 
the iron enter into their souls. We all console ourselves 
too easily for the sorrows of others. We talk and reason 
coolly of that which, did we feel it ourselves, would take 
away all power of composure and self-control. We have 
seen how the masters feel and reason ; how good men feel 
and reason, whose public opinion and Christian fellowship 
support the master, and give him confidence in his position. 
We must add, al§o, to our estimate, the feelings and rea- 
sonings of the slave ; and, therefore, the reader must follow 
us again to the fastness in the Dismal Swamp. 

It is a calm, still, Indian-summer afternoon. The whole 
air is flooded with a golden haze, in which the tree-tops 
move dreamily to and fro, as if in a whispering reverv. 
The wild climbing grape-vines, which hang in thousand-fold 


214 


THE DESERT. 


festoons round the enclosure, are purpling with grapes. 
The little settlement now has among its inmates Old Tiff and 
his children, and Harry and his wife. The children and 
Tiff had been received in the house of the widow whose 
husband had fallen a victim to the hunters, as we mentioned 
in one of our former chapters. All had united in building 
for Harry and Lisette a cabin contiguous to the other. 

Old Tiff, with his habitual industry, might now be seen 
hoeing in the sweet-potato patch, which belonged to the 
common settlement. The children were roaming up and 
down, looking after autumn flowers and grapes. 

Dred, who had been out all the night before, was now 
lying on the ground on the shady side of the clearing, with 
an old, much-worn, much-thumbed copy of the Bible by bis 
side. It was the Bible of Denmark Yesey, and in many a 
secret meeting its wild, inspiring poetry had sounded like a 
trumpet in his youthful ear. 

He lay with his elbow resting on the ground, his hands 
supporting his massive head, and his large, gloomy, dark 
eyes fixed in revery on the moving tree-tops as they waved 
in the golden blue. Now his eye followed sailing islands 
of white cloud, drifting to and fro above them. There wdfe 
elements in him which might, under other circumstances, 
have made him a poet. 

His frame, capacious and energetic as it was, had yet 
that keenness of excitability which places the soul en rapport 
with all the great forces of nature. The only book which 
he had been much in the habit of reading — the book, iniact, 
which had been the nurse and forming power of his soul — 
was the Bible, distinguished above all other literature for 
its intense sympathy with nature. Dred, indeed, resembled 
in organization and tone of mind some of those men of old 
who were dwellers in the wilderness, and drew their inspir- 
ations from the desert. 

It is remarkable that, in all ages, communities and indi- 
viduals who have suffered under oppression have always 
fled for refuge to the Old Testament, and to the book of 


THE DESERT. 


215 


Revelation in the New. Even if not definitely understood, 
these magnificent compositions have a wild, inspiring 
power, like a wordless yet impassioned symphony played 
by a sublime orchestra, in which deep and awful sub-bass 
instruments mingle with those of ethereal softness, and 
wild minors twine and interlace with marches of battles 
and bursts of victorious harmony. 

They are much mistaken who say that nothing is efficient as a 
motive that is not definitely understood. Who ever thought 
of understanding the mingled wail and roar of the Marseil- 
laise ? Just this kind of indefinite stimulating power has 
the Bible to the souls of the oppressed. There is also a 
disposition, which has manifested itself since the primitive 
times, by which the human soul, bowed down beneath the 
weight of mighty oppressions, and despairing, in its own 
weakness, seizes with avidity the intimations of a coming 
judgment, in which the Son of Man, appearing in his glory, 
and all his holy angels with him, shall right earth’s mighty 
wrongs. 

In Dred’s mind this thought had acquired an absolute 
ascendency. All things in nature and in revelation he 
interpreted by this key. 

During the prevalence of the cholera, he had been per- 
vaded by a wild and solemn excitement. To him it was the 
opening of a seal — the sounding of the trumpet of the first 
angel. And other woes were yet to come. 

He was not a man of personal malignity to any human 
being. When he contemplated schemes of insurrection and 
bloodshed, he contemplated them with the calm, immovable 
firmness of one who felt himself an instrument of doom in a 
mightier hand. In fact, although seldom called into exer- 
cise bv the incidents of his wild and solitary life, there was 
in him a vein of that gentleness which softens the heart 
towards children and the inferior animals. The amusement 
of his vacant hours was sometimes to exercise his peculiar 
gifts over the animal creation, by drawing towards him the 
birds and squirrels from the coverts of the forest, and 
ii. 19 


216 


THE DESERT. 


giving them food. Indeed, he commonly carried corn in 
the hunting-dress which he wore, to use for this purpose. 
Just at this moment, as he lay absorbed in revery, he heard 
Teddy, who was near him, calling to his sister. 

“ 0, Fanny, do come and see this squirrel, he is so 
pretty ! ” 

Fanny came running, eagerly. “ Where is he ? ” she said. 

“0, he is gone ; he just went behind that tree.” 

The children, in their eagerness, had not perceived how 
near they were to Dred. He had turned his face towards 
them, and was looking at them with a pleased expression, 
approaching to a smile. 

*■* Do you want to see him ? ” he said. “ Stop a few 
minutes.” 

He rose and scattered a train of corn between him and 
the thicket, and, sitting down on the ground, began making 
a low sound, resembling the call of the squirrel to its young. 
In a few moments Teddy and Fanny were in a tremor of 
eager excitement, as a pair of little bright eyes appeared 
among the leaves, and gradually their owner, a brisk little 
squirrel, came out and began rapidly filling its chops with 
the corn. Dred still continued, with his eyes fixed on the 
animal, to make the same noise. Very soon two others 
were seen following their comrade. The children laughed 
when they saw the headmost squirrel walk into Dred’s hand, 
which he had laid upon the ground, the others soon follow- 
ing his example. Dred took them up, and, softly stroking 
them, they seemed to become entirely amenable to his will ; 
and, to amuse the children, he let them go into his hunting- 
pouch to eat the corn that was there. After this, they 
seemed to make a rambling expedition over his whole per- 
son, investigating his pockets, hiding themselves in the 
bosom of his shirt, and seeming apparently perfectly fear- 
less, and at home. 

Fanny reached out her nand, timidly. “ Won’t they come 
to me l n she said. 

" .No, daughter,” said Dred, with a smile, “ they don’t 


THE DESERT. 


217 


know you. In the new earth the enmity will be taken 
away, and then they ’ll come.” 

“ I wonder what he means by the new earth!” said 
Fanny. 

Dred seemed to feel a kind of pleasure in the admiration 
of the children, to which, perhaps, no one is wholly insen- 
sible. He proceeded, therefore, to show them some other 
of his accomplishments. The wood was resounding with 
the afternoon song of birds, and Dred suddenly began 
answering one of the songsters with an exact imitation of 
his note. The bird evidently heard it, and answered back 
with still more spirit ; and thus an animated conversation 
was kept up for some time. 

** You see,” he said, “ that I understand the speech 
of birds. After the great judgment, the elect shall talk 
with the birds and the beasts in the new earth. Every 
kind of bird has a different language, in which they show 
why men should magnify the Lord, and turn from their 
wickedness. But the sinners cannot hear it, because their 
ear is waxed gross.” 

“I didn’t know,” said Fanny, hesitatingly, “ as that 
was so. How did you find it out ? ” 

“ The Spirit of the Lord revealed it unto me, child.” 

“ What is the Spirit ? ” said Fanny, who felt more 
encouraged, as she saw Dred stroking a squirrel. 

“ It ’s the Spirit that spoke in the old prophets,” he said. 

“ Did it tell you what the birds say ? ” 

“I am not perfected in holiness yet, and cannot receive 
it. But the birds fly up near the heavens, wherefore they 
learn droppings of the speech of angels. I never kill the 
birds, because the Lord hath set them between us and the 
angels for a sign.” 

“ What else did the Spirit tell you ? ” said Teddy. 

“ He showed me that there was a language in the leaves,” 
said Dred. “ For I rose and looked, and, behold, there were 
signs drawn on the leaves, and forms of every living thing, 
with strange words, which the wicked understand not, but 


218 


THE DESERT. 


the elect shall read them. And, behold, the signs are in 
blood, which is the blood of the Lamb, that descendeth like 
dew from heaven.” 

Fanny looked puzzled. “ Who are the elect ? ” she 
said. 

“ They ? ” said Dred. “ They are the hundred and forty and 
four thousand, that follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth. 
And the angels have charge, saying, * Hurt not the earth 
till these are sealed in their forehead/ ” 

Fanny instinctively put her hand to her forehead. “ Do 
you think they T1 seal me ? ” she said. 

“ Yes,” said Dred ; “ such as you are of the kingdom.” 

“ Did the Spirit tell you that?” said Fanny, who felt 
some considerable anxiety. 

“ Yea, the Spirit hath shown me many such things,” said 
Dred. 11 It hath also revealed to me the knowledge of the 
elements, the revolutions of the planets, the operations of 
the tide, and changes of the seasons.” 

Fanny looked doubtfully, and, taking up her basket of 
wild grapes, slowly moved off, thinking that she would ask 
Tiff about it. 

At this moment there was a rustling in the branches of 
the oak-tree which overhung a part of the clearing near 
where Dred was lying, and Harry soon dropped from the 
branches on to the ground. Dred started up to receive 
him. 

“ How is it? ” said he. “ Will they come ? ” 

“ Yes ; by midnight to-night they will be here. See 
here,” he added, taking a letter from his pocket, “ wl\at I 
have received.” 

It was the letter which Clayton had written to Harry. It 
was remarkable, as Dred received it, how the wandering 
mystical expression of his face immediately gave place to 
one of shrewd and practical earnestness. He sat down on 
the ground, laid it on his knee, and followed the lines with 
his finger. Some passages he seemed to read over two or 
three times with the greatest attention, and he would pause, 


THE DESERT. 


219 


after reading them, and sat with his eyes fixed gloomily on 
the ground. The last part seemed to agitate him strongly. 
He gave a sort of suppressed groan. 

“Harry,” he said, turning to him, at last, “behold the 
day shall come when the Lord shall take out of our hand 
the cup of trembling, and put it into the hand of those that 
oppress us. Our soul is exceedingly filled now with the 
scorning of them that are at ease, and with the contempt 
of the proud. The prophets prophesy falsely, the rulers 
bear rule by their means, and the people love to have it so. 
But what will it be in the end thereof? Their own wicked- 
ness shall reprove them, and their backsliding shall correct 
them. Listen to me, Harry,” he said, taking up his Bible, 
“ and see what the Lord saith unto thee. 1 Thus saith the 
Lord my God, Feed the flock of the slaughter ; whose pos- 
sessors slay them, and hold themselves not guilty, and they 
that sell them say, blessed be the Lord, for I am rich. And 
their own shepherds pity them not. For I will no more 
pity the inhabitants of the land, saith the Lord. But, lo, I 
will deliver the men, every one into his neighbor’s hand, 
and into the hand of his king. And they shall smite the 
land, and out of their hand I will not deliver them. And I 
will feed the flock of slaughter, even you, 0 ye poor of the 
flock. And I took unto me two staves : the one I called 
beauty, and the other I called bands. And I fed the flock. 
And I took my staff, even beauty, and cut it asunder, that 
I might break my covenant which I had made with all the 
people. And it was broken in that day, so the poor of the 
flock that waited on me knew it was the word of the Lord. 
Then I cut asunder mine other stave, even bands, that I 
might break the brotherhood between Judah and Israel. 
The burden of the word of the Lord for Israel, saith the 
Lord, which stretcheth forth the heavens, and layeth the 
foundations of the earth, and formeth the spirit of man 
within him. Behold, I will make Jerusalem a cup of trem- 
bling to all the people round' about. Also in that day I 
will make Jerusalem a burdensome stone for all people. 
ii. 19* 


220 


THE DESERT. 


All that burthen themselves with it shall be cut to pieces. 
In that day, saith the Lord, I will smite every horse with 
astonishment, and every rider with madness. And I will 
open mine eyes on the house of Judah, and will smite every 
horse of the people with blindness. In that day I will 
make the governors of Judah like a hearth of fire among 
the wood, and like a torch of fire in a sheaf, and they shall 
devour all the people on the right and the left. 7 

“ narry,” said he, “ these things are written for our 
learning. We will go up and take away her battlements, 
for they are not the Lord’s ! ” 

The gloomy fervor with which Dred read these words of 
Scripture, selecting, as his eye glanced down the prophetic 
pages, passages whose images most affected his own mind, 
carried with it an overpowering mesmeric force. 

Who shall say that, in this world, where all things are 
symbolic, bound together by mystical resemblances, and 
where one event is the archetype of thousands, that there 
is not an eternal significance in these old prophecies ? Do 
they not bring with them “ springing and germinant fulfil- 
ments ” wherever there is a haughty and oppressive nation, 
and a “ flock of the slaughter” ? 

"‘Harry,” said Dred, “ I have fasted and prayed before 
the Lord, lying all night on my face, yet the token cometh 
not ! Behold, there are prayers that resist me ! The Lamb 
yet beareth, and the opening of the second seal delayeth ! 
Yet the Lord had shown unto me that we should be up and 
doing, to prepare the way for the coming of the Lord ! The 
Lord hath said unto me, ‘ Speak to the elders, and to the 
prudent men, and prepare their hearts.’ ” 

“ One thing,” said Harry, “fills me with apprehension. 
Hark, that brought me this letter, was delayed in getting 
back ; and I ’m afraid that he ’ll get into trouble. Tom 
Gordon is raging like a fury over the people of our planta- 
tion. They have always been held under a very mild rule ; 
and every one knows that a plantation so managed is not 
so immediately profitable as it can be made for a short time 


THE DESERT. 


221 


by forcing everything up to the highest notch. He has got 
a man, there, for overseer — Old Hokum — that has been 
famous for his hardness and meanness ; and he has deliv- 
ered the people, unreservedly, into his hands. He drinks, 
and frolics, and has his oyster-suppers, and swears he dl 
shoot any one that brings him a complaint. Hokum is to 
pay him so much yearly, and have to himself all that he 
makes over. Tom Gordon keeps two girls, there, that he 
bought for himself and his fellows, just as he wanted to 
keep my wife ! ” 

“ Be patient, Harry ! This is a great christianizing insti- 
tution ! ” said Dred, with a tone of grave irony. 

** I am afraid for Hark,” said Harry. “He is the bravest 
of brave fellows. He is ready to do anything for us. But, 
if he is taken, there will bq no mercy.” 

Dred looked on the ground, gloomily. “ Hark was to be 
here to-night,” he said. 

“ Yes,” said Harry, “ I wish we may see him.” 

“ Harry,” said Dred, “ when they come, to-night, read 
them the Declaration of Independence of these United 
States, and then let each one judge of our afflictions, and 
the afflictions of their fathers, and the Lord shall be judge 
between us. I must go and seek counsel of the Lord.” 

Dred rose, and, giving a leap from the ground, caught on 
the branch of the oak, which overhung their head, and, 
swinging himself on the limb, climbed in the thickness of 
the branches, and disappeared from view. Harry walked 
to the other side of the clearing, where his lodge had been 
erected. He found Lisette busy within. She ran to meet 
him, and threw her arms around his neck. 

“ I am so glad you ? ve come back, Harry I It is so dread- 
ful to think what may happen to you while you are gone ! 
Harry, I think we could be very happy here. See what a 
nice bed I have made in this corner, out of leaves and moss ! 
The women are both very kind, and I am glad we have got 
Old Tiff and the children here. It makes it seem more 
natural. See, I went out with them, this afternoon, and 


222 


THE DESERT. 


how many grapes I have got ! What have you been talk- 
ing to that dreadful man about ? Do you know, Harry, he 
makes me afraid ? They say he is a prophet. Do you think 
he is ? ” 

“ I don’t know, child,” said Harry, abstractedly. 

“ Don’t stay with him too much ! ” said Lisette. “ He ’ll 
make you as gloomy as he is.” 

' “ Do I need any one to make me gloomy ? ” said Harry. 
tl Am I not gloomy enough ? Am I not an outcast ? And 
you, too, Lisette ? ” 

“ It is n’t so very dreadful to be an outcast,” said Lisette. 
“ God makes wild grapes for us, if we are outcasts.” 

“ Yes, child,” said Harry, “you are right.” 

“And the sun shines so pleasant, this afternoon!” said 
Lisette. 

“Yes,” said Harry; “but by and by cold storms and 
rain will come, and frosty weather ! ” 

“ Well,” said Lisette, “ then we will think what to do 
next. But don’t let us lose this afternoon, and these 
grapes, at any rate.” 


CHAPTER XXII, 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 

At twelve o’clock, that night, Harry rose from the side of 
his sleeping wife, and looked out into the darkness. The 
belt of forest which surrounded them seemed a girdle of 
impenetrable blackness. But above, where the tree-tops 
fringed out against the sky, the heavens were seen of a 
deep, transparent violet, blazing with stars, ne opened 
the door, and came out. All was so intensely still that even 
the rustle of a leaf could be heard. He stood listening. 
A low whistle seemed to come from a distant part of the 
underwood. He answered it. Soon a crackling was heard, 
and a sound of cautious, suppressed conversation. In a 
few moments a rustling was heard in the boughs overhead. 
Harry stepped under. 

“ Who is there ? ” he said. 

11 The camp of the Lord’s judgment ! ” was the answer, 
and a dark form dropped on the ground. 

“ Hannibal ? ” said Harry. 

“ Yes, Hannibal ! ” said the voice. 

“ Thank God ! ” said Harry. 

But now the boughs of the tree were continually rustling, 
and one after another sprang down to the ground, each one 
of whom pronounced his name, as he came. 

“ Where is the prophet ? ” said one. 

“ lie is not here,” said Harry. “ Fear not, he will be 
with us.” 

The party now proceeded to walk, talking in low 
voices. 


224 


JUGAR sahadutha. 


“ There ’s nobody from the Gordon place, yet ! ” said 
Harry, uneasily. 

“ They 41 be along,” said one of them. “ Perhaps Hokum 
was wakeful, to-night. They 41 give him the slip, though.” 

The company had now arrived at the lower portion of the 
clearing, where stood the blasted tree, which we formerly 
described, with its funeral-wreaths of moss. Over the 
grave which had recently been formed there Dred had 
piled a rude and ragged monument of stumps of trees, and 
tufts of moss, and leaves. In the top of one of the highest 
stumps was stuck a pine-knot, to which Harry now applied 
a light. It kindled, and rose with a broad, red, fuliginous 
glare, casting a sombre light on the circle of dark faces 
around. There were a dozen men, mulatto, quadroon, and 
negro. Their countenances all wore an expression of stern 
gravity and considerate solemnity. 

Their first act was to clasp their hands in a circle, and 
join in a solemn oath never to betray each other. The mo- 
ment this was done, Dred emerged mysteriously from the 
darkness, and stood among them. 

“ Brethren,” he said, * this is the grave of your brother, 
whose wife they would take for a prey ! Therefore he fled to 
the wilderness. But the assembly of the wicked compassed 
him about, and the dogs tore him, and licked up his blood, 
and here I buried him ! Wherefore, this heap is called 
Jegar Sahadutha ! For the God of Abraham and Nahor, 
the God of their fathers, shall judge betwixt us. He that 
yegardeth not the oath of brethren, and betrayeth counsel, 
let his arm fall from his shoulder-blade ! Let his arm be 
broken from the bone ! Behold, this heap shall be a witness 
unto you ; for it hath heard all the words that ye have 
spoken ! ” 

A deep-murmured “ Amen ” rose solemnly among them. 

“ Brethren,” said Dred, laying his hand upon Harry, 
"the Lord caused Moses to become the son of Pharaoh’s 
daughter, that he might become learned in the wisdom of 
the Egyptians, to lead forth his people f om the house of 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


225 


bondage. And, when he slew an Egyptian, he fled into the 
wilderness, where he abode certain days, till the time of the 
Lord was come. In like manner hath the Lord dealt with 
our brother. He shall expound unto you the laws of the 
Egyptians ; and for me, I will show unto you what I have 
received from the Lord.” 

The circle now sat down on the graves which were scat- 
tered around, and Harry thus spoke : 

“ Brothers, how many of you have been at Fourth of July 
celebrations ? ” 

“ I have ! I have ! All of us ! ” was the deep response, 
uttered not eagerly, but in low and earnest tones. 

“ Brethren, I wish to explain to you to-night the story 
that they celebrate. It was years ago that this people 
was small, and poor, and despised, and governed by men 
sent by the King of England, who, they say, oppressed 
them. Then they resolved that they would be free, and 
govern themselves in their own way, and make their own 
laws. For this they were called rebels and conspirators ; 
and, if they had failed, every one of their leaders would 
have been hung, and nothing more said about it. When 
they were agreeing to do this, they met together and signed 
a paper, which was to show to all the world the reason why. 
You have heard this read by them when the drums were 
beating and the banners flying. Now hear it here, while 
you sit on the graves of men they have murdered ! ” 

And, standing by the light of the flaring torch, Harry 
read that document which has been fraught with so much 
seed for all time. What words were those to fall on the ears 
of thoughtful bondmen ! 

“ Governments derive their just power from the consent 
of the governed.” “When a long train of abuses and 
usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a 
determination to reduce them under absolute despotism, it 
is their right and their duty to throw off such government.” 

“ Brothers,” said Harry “you have heard the grievances 
which our masters thought sufficient to make it right for 


226 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


them to slied blood. They rose up against their king, and 
when he sent his armies into the country, they fired at them 
from the windows of the houses, and from behind the barns, 
and from out of the trees, and wherever they passed, till 
they were strong enough to get together an army, and fight 
them openly.” 

“ Yes,” said Hannibal, “ I heard my master’s father tell 
of it. He was one of them.” 

“ Now,” said Harry, “ the Lord judge between us and 
them, if the laws that they put upon us be not worse than 
any that lay upon them. They complained that they could 
not get justice done to them in the courts. But how stands 
it with us, who cannot even come into a court to plead ? ” 

Harry then, in earnest and vehement language, narrated 
the abuse which had been inflicted upon Milly ; and then re- 
cited, in a clear and solemn voice, that judicial decision 
which had burned itself into his memory, and which had 
confirmed and given full license to that despotic power. 
He related the fate of his own contract — of his services for 
years to the family for which he had labored, all ending in 
worse than nothing. And then he told his sister’s history, 
till his voice was broken by sobs. The audience who sat 
around were profoundly solemn ; only occasionally a deep, 
smothered groan seemed to rise from them involuntarily. 

Hannibal rose. “I had a master in Virginny. He was 
a Methodist preacher. He sold my wife and two children 
to Orleans, and then sold me. My next wife was took for 
debt, and she ’s gone.” 

A quadroon young man rose. “ My mother was held by 
a minister in Kentucky. My father was a good, hard-work- 
ing man. There was a man set his eye on her, and wanted 
her ; but she would n’t have anything to do with him. Then 
she told her master, and begged him to protect her ; but 
he sold her. Her hair turned all white in that year, and she 
went crazy. She was crazy till she died ! ” 

“I *s got a story to tell, on that,” said a middle-aged ne- 
gro man, of low stature, broad shoulders, and a countenance 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


227 


indicative of great resolution, who now rose. il I ’s got a 
story to tell.” 

“Go on, Monday,” said Harry. 

“ You spoke ’bout de laws. I ’s seen ’bout dem ar. 
Now, my brother Sam, he worked with me on de great Mor- 
ton place, in Yirginny. And dere was going to be a 
wedding dere, and dey wanted money, and so some of de 
colored people was sold to Tom Parker, ’cause Tom Parker 
he was a buying up round, dat ar fall ; and he sold him to 
Souther, and he was one o’ yer drefful mean white trash, 
dat lived down to de bush. Well, Sam was nigh ’bout 
starved, and so he had to help hisself de best way he 
could ; and he used fur to trade off one ting and ’nother 
fur meal to Stone’s store, and Souther he told him ‘ dat 
he ’d give him hell if he caught him.’ So, one day, when he 
missed something off de place, he come home and he brought 
Stone with him, and a man named Hearvy. He told him 
dat he was going to cotch it. I reckon dey was all three 
drunk. Any how, dey tied him up, and Souther he never 
stopped to cut him, and to slash him, and to hack him ; and 
dey burned him with chunks from de fire, and dey scalded 
him with boiling water. He was strong man, but dey 
worked on him dat way all day, and at last he died. Dey 
hearn his screeches on all de places round. Now, brethren, 
you jest see what was done ’bout it. Why, mas’r and some 
of de gen’lemen round said dat Souther 1 was n’t fit to 
live,’ and it should be brought in de courts ; and sure ’nough 
it was ; and, ’cause he is my own brother, I listened for what 
dey would say. Well, fust dey begun with saying dat it 
wan’t no murder at all, ’cause slaves, dey said, wan’t people, 
and dey could n’t be murdered. But den de man on t’ oder 
side he read heaps o’ tings to show dat dey was people — 
dat dey was human critturs. Den de lawyer said dat dere 
wan’t no evidence dat Souther meant fur to kill him, any 
how. Dat it was de right of de master to punish his slave 
any way he thought fit. And how was he going to know 
dat it would kill him ? Well, so dey had it back and forth, 
n. 20 


228 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


and finally de jury said 1 it was murder in de second degree/ 
Lor ! if dat ar ’s being murdered in de second degree, I like 
to know what de fust is ! You see, dey said he must go to 
de penitentiary for five years. But, laws, he did n’t, ’cause 
dere ’s ways enough o’ getting oui of dese yer tings ; ’cause 
he took it up to de upper court, and dey said * dat it had 
been settled dat dere could n’t be noting done agin a mas’r 
fur no kind of beating or ’busing of der own slaves. Dat 
de master must be protected, even if ’t was ever so cruel.’ * 

“ So, now, brethren, what do you think of dat ar ? ” 

At this moment another person entered the circle. There 
was a general start of surprise and apprehension, which im- 
mediately gave place to a movement of satisfaction and 
congratulation. 

“You have come, have you, Henry ? ” said Harry. 

But at this moment the other turned his face full to the 
torch-light, and Harry was struck with its ghastly expres- 
sion. 

“ For God’s sake, what ’s the matter, Henry ? Where ’s 
Hark ? ” 

“ Dead ! ” said the other. 

As one struck with a pistol-shot leaps in the air, Harry 
bounded, with a cry, from the ground. 

“ Dead ? ” he echoed. 

“Yes, dead, at last! Dey’s all last night a killing of 
him.” 

* Lest any of our readers should think the dark witness who is speaking mis- 
taken in his hearing, we will quote here the words which stand on the Virginia 
law records, in reference to this very case. 

“ It has been decided by this court, in Turner’s case, that the owner of a 
slave, for the malicious, cruel, and excessive beating of his own slave, cannot be 
indicted. * * It is the policy of the law in respect to the relation of master 

and slave, and for the sake of securing proper subordination and obedience on 
the part of the slave, to protect the master from prosecution, even if the whipping 
znd punishment be malicious , cruel , and excessive.” — 7 Grattan, 673, 1851, South- 
.r vs. Commonwealth. 

Any one who has sufficiently strong nerves to peruse the records of this 
hrial will see the effect of the slave system on the moral sensibilities of edu- 
cated men. • 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


229 


f< I thought so ! 0, I was afraid of it 1 ” said Harry. 
“ 0, Hark ! Hark ! Hark ! God do so to me, and more 
alp.o, if I forget this ! ” 

The thrill of a present interest drew every one around 
the narrator, who proceeded to tell how “Hark, having 
been too late on his return to the plantation, had incurred 
the suspicion of being in communication with Harry. How 
Hokum, Tom Gordon, and two of his drunken associates, 
had gathered together to examine him by scourging. How 
his shrieks the night before had chased sleep from every 
hut of the plantation. How he died, and gave no sign.” 
When he was through, there was dead and awful silence. 

Dred, who had been sitting during most of these narra- 
tions, bowed, with his head between his knees, groaning 
within himself, like one who is wrestling with repressed 
.feeling, now rose, and, solemnly laying his hand on the 
mound, said : 

“ Jegar Sahadutha! The God of their fathers judge be- 
tween us ! If they had a right to rise up for their oppres- 
sions, shall they condemn us ? For judgment is turned 
away backward, and justice standeth afar off! Truth is 
fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter ! Yea, truth 
failcth, and he that departeth from evil maketh himself a 
prey ! They are not ashamed, neither can they blush ! 
They declare their sin as Sodom, and hide it not ! The 
mean man boweth down, and the great man humbleth him- 
self ! Therefore, forgive them not, saith the Lord ! ” 

Dred paused a moment, and stood with his hands uplifted. 
As a thunder-cloud trembles and rolls, shaking with gather- 
ing electric fire, so his dark figure seemed to dilate and 
quiver with the force of mighty emotions. He seemed, at 
the moment, some awful form, framed to symbolize to human 
eye the energy of that avenging justice which all nature 
shudderingly declares. 

He trembled, his hands quivered, drops of perspiration 
rolled down his face, his gloomy eyes dilated with an unut- 
terable volume of emotion. At last the words heaved 


230 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


themselves up in deep chest-tones, resembling the wild, 
hollow wail of a wounded lion, finding vent in language 
to him so familiar, that it rolled from his tongue in a spon- 
taneous torrent, as if he had received their first inspiration. 

“ Hear ye the word of the Lord against this people ! The 
harvest groweth ripe ! The press is full ! The vats overflow l 
Behold, saith the Lord — behold, saith the Lord, I will gather 
all nations, and bring them down to the valley of Jehosha- 
phat, and will plead with them for my people, whom they 
have scattered among the nations ! Woe unto them, for 
they have cast lots for my people, and given a boy for a 
harlot, and sold a girl for wine, that they may drink ! For 
three transgressions of Israel, and for four, I will not turn 
away the punishment thereof, saith the Lord ! Because 
they sold the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair 
of shoes ! They pant after the dust on the head of the 
poor, and turn aside the way of the meek ! And a man and 
his father will go in unto the same maid, to profane my holy 
name ! Behold, saith the Lord, I am pressed under you, as 
a cart is pressed full of sheaves ! 

“ The burden of the beasts of the South ! The land of 
trouble and anguish, from whence cometh the young and 
old lion, the viper, and fiery, flying serpent ! Go write it 
upon a table, and note it in a book, that it may be for time 
to come, for ever and ever, that this is a rebellious people, 
lying children — children that will not hear the law of the 
Lord ! Which say to the seers, See not ! Prophesy not unto 
us right things ! Speak unto us smooth thiugs ! Prophesy 
deceits ! Wherefore, thus saith the Holy One of Israel, 
Because ye despise his word, and trust in oppression, and 
perverseness, and stay thereon ; therefore, this iniquity 
shall be to you as a breach ready to fall, swelling out in 
a high wall ; whose breaking cometh suddenly in an 
instant I And he shall break it as the breaking of a potter’s 
vessel ! ” 

Pausing for a moment, he stood with his hands tightly 
clasped before him, leaning forward, looking into the dis* 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


231 


tance. At last, with the action and energy of one who 
beholds a triumphant reality, he broke forth : 

“ Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed gar- 
ments, from Bozrah ? This, that is glorious in his apparel, 
travelling in the greatness of his strength ? ” 

He seemed to listen, and, as if he had caught an answer, 
he repeated : 

“ I that speak in righteousness, mighty to save ! ” 

11 Wherefore art thou red in thine apparel, and thy gar- 
ments like him that treadeth in the wine-press ? I have 
trodden the wine-press alone, and of the people there 
was none with me ; for I will tread them in my anger, and 
trample them in my fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled 
on my garments, and I will stain all my raiment ! For the day 
of vengeance is in my heart, and the year of my redeemed 
is come ! And I looked, and there was none* to help ! And 
I wondered that there was none to uphold ! Therefore mine 
own arm brought salvation, and my fury it upheld me 1 For 
I will tread down the people in mine anger, and make them 
drunk in my fury 1 ” 

Gradually the light faded from his face. His arms fell. 
He stood a few moments with his head bowed down on 
his breast. Yet the spell of his emotion held every one 
silent. At last, stretching out his hand, he broke forth in 
passionate prayer: 

“ How long, 0 Lord, how long ? Awake 1 Why sleep- 
est thou, 0 Lord ? Why withdrawest thou thy hand ? 
Pluck it out of thy bosom 1 We see not the sign ! There 
is no more any prophet, neither any among us, that know- 
eth how long ! Wilt thou hold thy peace forever ? Behold 
the blood of the poor crieth unto thee ! Behold how they 
hunt for our lives I Behold how they pervert justice, and 
take away the key of knowledge ! They enter not in 
themselves, and those that are entering in they hinder ! 
Behold our wives taken for a prey ! Behold our daughters 
sold to be harlots 1 Art thou a God that judgest on t e 
earth ? Wilt thou not avenge thine own elect, that cry 
ii. 20* 


232 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


unto thee day and night ? Behold the scorcing of them 
that are at ease, and the contempt of the proud I Behold 
how they speak wickedly concerning oppression ! They 
set their mouth against the heavens, and their tongue 
walketh through the earth ! Wilt thou hold thy peace for 
all these things, and afflict us very sore ? ” 

The energy of the emotion which had sustained him 
appeared gradually to have exhausted itself. And, after 
standing silent for a few moments, he seemed to gather 
himself together as a man awaking out of a trance, and, 
turning to the excited circle around him, he motioned them 
to sit down. When he spoke to them in his ordinary 
tone : 

“ Brethren,” he said, “ the vision is sealed up, and the 
token is not yet come ! The Lamb still beareth the yoke of 
their iniquities ; there be prayers in the golden censers 
which go up like a cloud ! And there is silence in heaven 
for the space of half an hour ! But hold yourselves in 
waiting, for the day cometh ! And what shall be the end 
thereof? ” 

A deep voice answered Dred. It was that of Hannibal. 

"We will reward them as they have rewarded us ! In 
the cup that they have filled to us we will measure to them 
again ! ” 

“God forbid,” said Dred, “that the elect of the Lord 
should do that ! When the Lord saith unto us, Smite, then 
will we smite ! We will not torment them with the scourge 
and fire, nor defile their women, as they have done with 
ours ! But we will slay them utterly, and consume them 
from off the face of the earth ! ” 

At this moment the whole circle were startled by the 
sound of a voice which seemed to proceed deep in from 
among the trees, singing, in a wild and mournful tone, the 
familiar words of a hymn : 

“ Alas ! and did my Saviour bleed, 

And did my Sovereign die ? 

Would he devote that sacred head 
For such a wretch as I ? ” 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 233 

There was a dead silence as the voice approached still 
nearer, and the chorus was borne upon the night air : 

u 0, the Lamb, the loving Lamb, 

The Lamb of Calvary ! 

The Lamb that was slain, but liveth again, 

To intercede for me ! ” 


And, as the last two lines were sung, Milly emerged and 
stood in the centre of the group. When Dred saw her, he 
gave a kind of groan, and said, putting his hand out before 
his face : 

“ Woman, thy prayers withstand me!” 

“ 0, brethren,” said Milly, “ I mistrusted of yer coun 
cils, and I 's been praying de Lord for you. 0, brethren, 
behold de Lamb of God ! If dere must come a day of ven- 
geance, pray not to be in it ! It 's de Lord's strange work. 
0, brethren, is we de fust dat's been took to de judgment- 
seat ? dat 's been scourged, and died in torments ? 0, 

brethren, who did it afore us ? Did n't He hang bleeding 
three hours, when dey mocked Him, and gave Him vinegar ? 
Did n’t He sweat great drops o' blood in de garden ? ” 

And Milly sang again, words so familiar to many of them 
that, involuntarily, several voices joined her : 

“ Agonizing in the garden, 

On the ground your Maker lies ; 

On the bloody tree behold Him, 

Hear Him cry, before He dies, 

It is finished ! Sinners, will not this suffice ? ” 

“ 0, won't it suffice, brethren ! " she said. “ If de Lord 
could bear all dat, and love us yet, shan't we ? 0, brethren, 
dere 's a better way. I 's been whar you be. I 's been in 
de wilderness ! Yes, I 's heard de sound of dat ar trumpet ! 
0, brethren ! brethren ! dere was blackness and darkness 
dere I But I 's come to Jesus, de Mediator of de new cove- 
nant, and de blood of sprinkling, which speaketh better 
tings than dat of Abel. Has n't / suffered ? My heart has 
been broke over and over for every child de Lord give me ! 


234 


JEGAR SAHADUTHA. 


And, when dey sold my poor Alfred, and shot him, and 
buried him like a dog, 0, but did n’t my heart burn ? 0, 

how I hated her dat sold him ! I felt like I ’d kill her 1 I 
felt like I ’d be glad to see mischief come on her children I 
But, brethren, de Lord turned and looked upon me like he 
done on Peter. I saw him with de crown o’ thorns on his 
head, bleeding, bleeding, and I broke down and forgave 
her. And de Lord turned her heart, and he was our peace. 
He broke down de middle wall ’tween us, and we come 
together, two poor sinners, to de foot of de cross. De 
Lord he judged her poor soul ! She wan’t let off from her 
sins. Her chil’en growed up to be a plague and a curse to 
her ! Dfcy broke her heart ! 0, she was saved by fire — 

but, bress de Lord, she was saved ! She died with her poor 
head on my arm — she dat had broke my heart ! Wan’t 
dat better dan if I ’d killed her ? 0, brethren, pray de Lord 

to give ’em repentance ! Leave de vengeance to him. 
Vengeance is mine — I will repay, saith de Lord. Like he 
loved us when we was enemies, love yer enemies ! ” 

A dead silence followed this appeal. The key-note of 
another harmony had been struck. At last Dred rose up 
solemnly : 

“ Woman, thy prayers have prevailed for this time 1 ” he 
said. “ The hour is not yet come ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 

Clayton was still pursuing the object which he had under- 
taken. He determined to petition the legislature to grant 
to the slave the right of seeking legal redress in cases of 
injury ; and, as a necessary step to this, the right of bearing 
testimony in legal action. As Frank Russel was candidate 
for the next state legislature, he visited him for the purpose 
of getting him to present such a petition. 

Our readers will look in on the scene, in a small retired 
back room of Frank’s office, where his bachelor establish- 
ment as yet was kept. Clayton had been giving him an 
earnest account of his plans and designs'. 

“ The only safe way of gradual emancipation,” said Clay- 
ton, “ is the reforming of law ; and the beginning of all legal 
reform must of course be giving the slave legal personality. 
It ’s of no use to enact laws for his protection in his family 
state, or in any other condition, till we open to him an 
avenue through which, if they are violated, his grievances 
can be heard, and can be proved. A thousand laws for his 
comfort, without this, are only a dead letter.” 

“ I know it,” said Frank Russel ; “ there never was any- 
thing under heaven so atrocious as our slave-code. It ’s a 
bottomless pit of oppression. Nobody knows it so well as 
we lawyers. But, then, Clayton, it ’s quite another thing 
what ’s to be done about it.” 

** Why, I think it’s very plain what’s to be done,” 
said Clayton. “ Go right forward and enlighten the com- 


236 


FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


munity. Get the law reformed. That ’s what I have 
taken for my work ; and, Frank, you must help me.” 

“ Hum ! ” said Frank. “ Now, the fact is, Clayton, if I 
wore a stiff white neckcloth, and had a D.D. to my name, I 
should tell you that the interests of Zion stood in the way, 
and that it was my duty to preserve my influence, for the 
sake of being able to take care of the Lord’s affairs. But, 
as I am not so fortunate, I must just say, without further 
preface, that it won’t do for me to compromise Frank Rus- 
sel’s interests. Clayton, I can’t afford it — that ’s just it. 
It won’t do. You see, our party can’t take up that kind 
of thing. It would be just setting up a fort from which our 
enemies could fire on us at their leisure. If I go in to the 
legislature, I have to go in by my party. I have to repre- 
sent my party, and, of course, I can’t afford to do anything 
that will compromise them.” 

“ Well, now, Frank,” said Clayton, seriously and soberly, 
“ are you going to put your neck into such a noose as this, 
to be led about all your life long — the bond-slave of a 
party ? ” 

“ Not I, by a good deal ! ” said Russel. “ The noose 
will change ends, one of these days, and I ’ll drag the party. 
But we must all stoop to conquer, at first.” 

“ And do you really propose nothing more to yourself 
than how to rise in the world ? ” said Clayton. “ Is n’t 
there any great and good work that has beauty for you ? 
Is n’t there anything in heroism and self-sacrifice ? ” 

“ Well,” said Russel, after a short pause, “ may be 
there is ; but, after all, Clayton, is there ? The world looks 
to me like a confounded humbug, a great hoax, and every- 
body is going in for grub ; and, I say, hang it all, why 
shouldn’t I have some of the grub, as well as the rest?” 

“ Man shall not live by bread alone 1 ” said Clayton. 

“ Bread ’s a pretty good thing, though, after all,” said 
Frank, shrugging Lis shoulders. 

“ But,” said Clayton, “ Frank, I am in earnest, and 
you ’ve got to be I want you to go with me down to the 


FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


237 


depths of your soul, where the water is still, and talk to mo 
on honor. This kind of half-joking way that you have is n’t 
a good sign, Frank ; it ’s too old for you. A man that 
makes a joke of everything at your age, what will he do 
before he is fifty ? Now, Frank, you do know that this sys- 
tem of slavery, if we don’t reform it, will eat out this 
country like a cancer ” 

** I know it,” said Frank. “ For that matter, it has eaten 
into us pretty well.” 

“ Now,” said Clayton, “ if for nothing else, if we had no 
feeling of humanity for the slave, we must do something for 
the sake of the whites, for this is carrying us back into bar- 
barism, as fast as we can go. Virginia has been ruined by 
it — run all down. North Carolina, I believe, has the enviable 
notoriety of being the most ignorant and poorest state in 
the Union. I don’t believe there ’s any country in old, des- 
potic Europe where the poor are more miserable, vicious, 
and degraded, than they are in our slave states. And it ’s 
depopulating us ; our men of ability, in the lower classes, 
who want to be respectable, won’t stand it. They will go 
off to some state where things move on. Hundreds and 
hundreds move out of North Carolina, every year, to the 
Western States. And it ’s all this unnatural organization 
of society that does it. We have got to contemplate some 
mode of abolishing this evil. We have got to take the first 
step towards progress, some time, or we ourselves are all 
undone.” 

“ Clayton,” said Frank, in a tone now quite as serious as 
his own, “ I tell you, as a solemn fact, that we can’t do it. 
Those among us who have got the power in their hands 
are determined to keep it, and they are wide awake. They 
don’t mean to let the first step be taken, because they 
don’t mean to lay down their power. The three fifths vote 
that they get by it is a thing they won’t part with. They ’ll 
die first. Why, just look at it 1 There is at least twenty- 
four millions of property held in this way. What do you 
suppose these men care about the poor whites, and the ruin 


238 


FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


of the state, and all that ? The poor whites may go to the 
devil, for all them ; and as for the ruin of the state, it won’t 
come in their day ; and ‘ after us the deluge/ you know. 
That ’s the talk ! These men are our masters ; they are 
yours ; they are mine ; they are masters of everybody in 
these United States. They can crack their whips over the 
head of any statesman or clergyman, from Maine to New 
Orleans, that disputes their will. They govern the country. 
Army, navy, treasury, church, state, everything is theirs ; 
and whoever is going to get up must go up on their ladder. 
There is n’t any other ladder. There is n’t an interest, not 
a body of men, in these whole United States, that they can’t 
control ; and I tell you, Clayton, you might as well throw 
ashes into the teeth of the north wind, as undertake to fight 
their influence. Now, if there was any hope of doing any 
good by this, if there was the least prospect of succeeding, 
why, I ’d join in with you ; but there is n’t. The thing is a 
fixed fact, and why should n’t I climb up on it, as well as 
everybody else ? ” 

“ Nothing is fixed,” said Clayton, “ that is n’t fixed in 
right. God and nature fight against evil.” 

“ They do, I suppose ; but it’s a long campaign,” said 
Frank, “ and I must be on the side that will win while I ’m 
alive. Now, Clayton, to you I always speak the truth ; I 
won’t humbug you. I worship success. I am of Frederick 
the Great’s creed, ' that Pro vidence goes with the strongest 
battalions.’ 

u I was n’t made for defeat. I must have power. The 
preservation of this system, whole and entire, is to be the 
policy of the leaders of this generation. The fact is, they 
stand where it must be their policy. They must spread it 
over the whole territory. They must get the balance of 
power in the country, to build themselves up against the 
public opinion of mankind. 

“ Why, Clayton, moral sentiment, as you call it, is a 
humbug ! The whole world acquiesces in what goes — they 
always have. There is a great outcry about slavery now ; 


frank russel’s opinions. 


239 


but let it succeed, and there won’t be. When they car out- 
vote the Northern States, they ’ll put them down. They have 
kept them subservient by intrigue so far, and by and by 
they ’ll have the strength to put them .down by force. Eng- 
land makes a fuss now ; but let them only succeed, and she ’ll 
be civil as a sheep. Of course, men always make a fuss 
about injustice, when they have nothing to gain by holding 
their tongues ; but England’s mouth will be stopped with 
cotton — you ’ll see it. They love trade, and hate war. 
And so the fuss of anti-slavery will die out in the world. 
Now, when you see what a poor hoax human nature is, 
what’s the use of bothering? The whole race together 
are n’t worth a button, Clayton, and self-sacrifice for such 
fools is a humbug. That ’s my programme ! ” 

“ Well, Frank, you have made a clean breast ; so will I. 
The human race, as you say, may be a humbug, but it ’s 
every man’s duty to know for himself that he is n’t one. 1 
am not. I do not worship success, and will not. And if a 
cause is a right and honorable one, I will labor in it till I 
die, whether there is any chance of succeeding or not.” 

“ Well, now,” said Frank Russel, “ I dare say it ’s so. I 
respect your sort of folks ; you form an agreeable heroic 
poem, with which one can amuse the tediousness of life. 
I suppose it won’t do you any good to tell you that you are 
getting immensely unpopular, with what you are doing.” 

“ No,” said Clayton, “ it won’t.” 

** I am really afraid,” said Russel, “ that they ’ll mob 
you, some of these bright days.” 

“Very well,” said Clayton. 

“ 0, of course, I knew it would be very well ; but, say, 
Clayton, what do you want to get up a petition on that 
point for ? Why don’t you get up one to prevent the sepa- 
lation of families ? There ’s been such a muss made about 
that in Europe, and all round the world, that it ’s rather the 
fashion to move about that a little. Politicians like to 
appear to intend to begin to do something about it. It has 
a pleasing effect, and gives the Northern editors and minis- 
n. 21 


240 


FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


ters something to say, as an apology for our sins. Besic.es, 
there are a good many simple-hearted folks, who don’t see 
very deep into things, that really think it possible tc do 
something effective on this subject. If you get up a peti- 
tion for that, you might take the tide with you ; and I ’d do 
something about it, myself.” 

“ You know very well, Frank, for I told you, that it ’s no 
use to pass laws for that, without giving the slaves power 
to sue or give evidence, in case of violation. The improve- 
ment I propose touches the root of the matter.” 

“ That ’s the fact — it surely does ! ” said Russel. “ And, 
for that very reason, you ’ll never carry it. Now, Clayton, 
I just want to ask you one question. Can you fight ? Will 
you fight ? Will you wear a bowie-knife and pistol, and 
shoot every fellow down that comes at you ? ” 

“ Why, no, of course, Frank. You know that I never 
was a fighting man. Such brute ways are not to my taste.” 

“ Then, my dear sir, you should n’t set up for a reformer 
in Southern states. Now, I ’ll tell you one thing, Clayton, 
that I ’ve heard. You made some remarks at a public meet- 
ing, up at E., that have started a mad-dog cry, which I sup- 
pose came from Tom Gordon. See here ; have you noticed 
this article in the Trumpet of Liberty?” said he, looking 
over a confused stack of papers on his table. “ Where ’s 
the article ? 0, here it is.” 

At the same time he handed Clayton a sheet bearing the 
motto “ Liberty and union, now and forever, one and insepa- 
rable,” and pointed to an article headed 

“ Covert Abolitionism ! Citizens, Beware ! 

"We were present, a few evenings ago, at the closing 
speech delivered before the Washington Agricultural So- 
ciety, in the course of which the speaker, Mr. Edward Clay- 
ton, gratuitously wandered away from his subject to make 
inflammatory and seditious comments on the state of the 
laws which regulate our negro population. It is time for 
the friends of our institutions to be awake. Such remarks, 


FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


241 


dropped in the ear of a restless and ignorant population, 
will be a fruitful source of sedition and insurrection. This 
young man is supposed to be infected with the virus of 
Northern abolitionists. We cannot too narrowly watch the 
course of such individuals ; for the only price at which we 
can maintain liberty is eternal vigilance. Mr. Clayton be- 
longs to one of our oldest and most respected families, 
which makes his conduct the more inexcusable.” 

Clayton perused this with a quiet smile, which was usual 
with him. 

11 The hand of Joab is in that thing,” said Frank "Russel. 

“ I ’m sure I said very little,” said Clayton. “ I was 
only showing the advantage to our agriculture of a higher 
tone of moral feeling among our laborers, which, of course, 
led me to speak of the state of the law regulating them. I 
said nothing but what everybody knows.” 

“But, don’t you know, Clayton,” said Russel, “that if a 
fellow has an enemy — anybody bearing him the least ill- 
will — that he puts a tremendous power in his hands by 
making such remarks ? Why, our common people are so 
ignorant that they are in the hands of anybody who wants 
to use them. They are just like a swarm of bees ; you can 
manage them by beating on a tin pan. And Tom Gordon 
has got the tin pan now, I fancy. Tom intends to be a 
swell. He is a born bully, and he ’ll lead a rabble. And 
so you must take care. Your family is considerable for 
you ; but, after all, it won’t stand you in stead for every- 
thing. Who have you got to back you ? Who have you 
talked with ? ” 

“ Well,” said Clayton, “ I have talked with some of the 
ministry — ” 

“And, of course,” said Frank, “you found that the 
leadings of Providence did n’t indicate that they are to be 
martyrs ! You have their prayers in secret, I presume ; and 
if you ever get the cause on the upper hill-side, they ’ll 
come out and preach a sermon for you. Now, Clayton, I ’ll 


242 


PRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


tell you what I ’ll do. If Tom Gordon attacks you, I ’ll pick 
a quarrel with him, and shoot him right off the reel. My 
stomach is n’t nice about those matters, and that sort of 
thing won’t compromise me with my party.” 

“ Thank you,” said Clayton, “ I shall not trouble you.” 

“ My dear fellow,” said Russel, “ you philosophers are 
very much mistaken about the use of carnal weapons. As 
long as you wrestle with flesh and blood, you had better 
use fleshly means. At any rate, a gentlemanly brace of 
pistols won’t hurt you ; and, in fact, Clayton, I am serious. 
You must wear pistols, — there are no two ways about it. 
Because, if these fellows know that a man wears pistols 
and will use them, it keeps them off. They have an objec- 
tion to being shot, as this is all the world they are likely to 
have. And I think, Clayton, you can fire off a pistol in as 
edifying and dignified a manner, as you can say a grace on 
proper occasions. The fact is, before long there will be a 
row kicked up. I’m pretty sure of it. Tom Gordon is a 
deeper fellow than you ’d think, and he has booked himself for 
Congress ; and he means to go in on the thunder-and-blazes 
principle, which will give him the vote of all the rabble. 
He ’ll go into Congress to do the fighting and slashing. 
There always must be a bully or two there, you know, to 
knock down fellows that you can’t settlo any other way. 
And nothing would suit him better, to get his name up, 
than heading a crusade against an abolitionist.” 

"Well,” said Clayton, “ if it’s come *to that, that we 
can’t speak and discuss freely in our own state, where 
are we ? ” 

“ Where are we, my dear fellow ? Why, I know where 
we are ; and if you don’t, it ’s time you did. Discuss freely ? 
Certainly we can, on one side of the question ; or on both 
sides of any other question than this. But this you can’t 
discuss freely, and they can’t afford to let you, as long as 
they mean to keep their power. Do you suppose they are 
going to let these poor devils, whites, get their bandages 
off their eyes, that make them so easy to lead now ? There 


FRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


243 


would be a pretty bill to pay, if they did ! J ust now, these 
fellows are in as safe and comfortable a condition for use as 
a party could desire ; because they have got votes, and we 
have the guiding of them. And they rage, and swear, and 
tear, fQr our institutions, because they are fools, and don’t 
know what hurts them. Then, there ’s the niggers. Those 
fellows are deep. They have as long ears as little pitchers, 
and they are such a sort of fussy set, that whatever is going 
on in the community is always in their mouths, and so comes 
up that old fear of insurrection. That ’s the awful word, 
Clayton ! That lies at the bottom of a good many things 
in our state, more than we choose to let on. These negroes 
are a black well ; you never know what ’s at the bottom.” 

“ Well,” said Clayton, “ the only way, the only safeguard 
to prevent this is reform. They are a patient set, and will 
bear a great while ; and if they only see that anything is 
being done, it will be an effectual prevention. If you want 
insurrection, the only way is to shut down the escape- 
valve ; for, will ye nill ye, the steam must rise. You see, in 
this day, minds will grow. They are growing. There ’s no 
help for it, and there ’s no force like the force of growth. 
I have seen a rock split in two by the growing of an elm- 
tree that wanted light and air, and would make its way up 
through it. Look at all the aristocracies of Europe. They 
have gone down under this force. Only one has stood — 
that of England. And how came that to stand ? Because 
it knew when to yield ; because it never confined dis- 
cussion ; because it gave way gracefully before the grow- 
ing force of the people. That’s the reason it stands to- 
day, while the aristocracy of France has been blown to 
atoms.” 

“ My dear fellow,” said Russel, “ this h all very true and 
convincing, no doubt : but you won’t make our aristocracy 
believe it. They have mounted the lightning, and they are 
going to ride it whip and spur. They are going to annex 
Cuba and the Sandwich Islands, and the Lord knows what, 
and have a great and splendid slaveholding empire. And 
D. 21 * 


244 


PRANK RUSSEL’S OPINIONS. 


the North is going to be what Greece was to Rome. We 
shall govern it, and it will attend to the arts of life for us. 
The South understands governing. We are trained to rule 
from the cradle. We have leisure to rule. We have 
nothing else to do. The free states have their factories, and 
their warehouses, and their schools, and their internal im- 
provements, to take up their minds ; and, if we are careful, 
and don’t tell them too plain where we are taking them, 
they ’ll never know it till they get there.” 

“Well,” said Clayton, “there’s one element of force 
that you ’ve left out in your calculation.” 

“ And what ’s that ? ” said Russel. 

“ God,” said Clayton. 

“ I don’t know anything about him,” said Russel. 

“You may have occasion to learn, one of these days,” 
said Clayton. “ I believe he is alive yet.” 


CHAPTER XX I Y . 

TOM GORDON’S PLANS. 

Tom Gordon, in the mean while, had commenced ruling 
his paternal plantation in a manner very different from the 
former indulgent system. His habits of reckless and bound- 
less extravagance, and utter heedlessness, caused his crav- 
ings for money to be absolutely insatiable ; and, within legal 
limits, he had as little care how it was come by, as a high- 
way robber. It is to be remarked that Tom Gordon was a 
worse slaveholder and master from the very facts of cer- 
tain desirable qualities in his mental constitution ; for, as 
good wine makes the strongest vinegar, so fine natures 
perverted make the worse vice. Tom had naturally a per- 
fectly clear, perceptive mind, and an energetic, prompt 
temperament. It was impossible for him, as many do, to 
sophisticate and delude himself with false views. He 
marched up to evil boldly, and with his eyes open. He 
had very little regard for public opinion, particularly the 
opinion of conscientious and scrupulous people. So he car- 
ried his purposes, it was very little matter to him what any 
one thought of them or him ; they might complain till 
they were tired. 

After Clayton had left the place, he often pondered the 
dying words of Nina, “that he should care for her people ; 
that he should tell Tom to be kind to them.” There was 
such an impassable gulf between the two characters, that 
it seemed impossible that any peaceable communication 
should pass between them. Clayton thought within him- 
self that it was utterly hopeless to expect any good arising 


246 


tom Gordon’s plans. 


from the stwifeg of Nina’s last message. But the subject 
haunted him Had he any right to withhold it? Was it 
not his duty to try every measure, however apparently 
hopeless ? 

Under the impulse of this feeling, he one day sat down 
and wrote to Tom Gordon an account, worded with the 
utmost simplicity, of the last hours of his sister’s life, 
hoping that he might read it, and thus, if nothing more, 
his own conscience be absolved. 

Death and the grc.ve, it is true, have sacred prerogatives, 
and it is often in their power to awaken a love which did 
not appear in life. There are few so hard as not to be 
touched by the record of the last hours of those with whom 
they have stood in intimate relations. A great moralist 
says, 11 There aie fe'ur things not purely evil of which we 
can say, without emotion, this is the last.” 

The letter was brought to Tom Gordon one evening 
when, for a wonder, he was by himself ; his associates 
being off on an excursion, while he was detained at home 
by a temporary illness, ne read it over, therefore, with 
some attention. He was of too positive a character, how- 
ever, too keenly percipient, not to feel immediate pain in 
view of it. A man of another nature might have melted 
in tears over it, indulged in the luxury of sentimental 
grief, and derived some comfort, from the exercise, to go on 
in ways of sin. Not so with Tom Gordon. He could not 
afford to indulge in anything that roused his moral nature. 
He was doing wrong of set purpose, with defiant energy ; 
and his only way of keeping his conscience quiet was to 
maintain about him such a constant tumult of excitement 
as should drown reflection. He could not afford a t^te-a-tete 
conversation with his conscience ; — having resolved, once 
for all, to go on in his own wicked way, serving the flesh 
and the devil, he had to watch against anything that 
might occasion uncomfortable conflict in his mind. lie 
knew very well, lost man as he was, that there was some- 
thing sweet and pure, high and noble, against which he 


TOM GORDON’S PLANS. 


247 


was contending ; and the letter was only like a torch, 
which a fair angel might hold up, shining into the filthy lair 
of a demon. He could not bear the light ; and he had no 
sooner read the note, than he cast it into the fire, and rang 
violently for a hot brandy-toddy, and a fresh case of cigars. 
The devil’s last, best artifice to rivet the fetters of his cap- 
tives is the opportunity which these stimulants give them 
to command insanity at will. 

Tom Gordon was taken to bed drunk ; and, if a sorrow- 
ful guardian spirit hovered over him as he read the letter, 
he did not hear the dejected rustle of its retreating wings. 
The next day nothing was left, only a more decided antipa- 
thy to Clayton, for having occasioned him so disagreeable a 
sensation. 

Tom Gordon, on the whole, was not unpopular in his 
vicinity. He determined to rule them all, and he did. All 
that uncertain, uninstructed, vagrant population, which 
abound in slave states, were at his nod and beck. They 
were his tools — prompt to aid him in any of his purposes, 
and convenient to execute vengeance on his adversaries. 
Tom was a determined slaveholder. He had ability enough 
to see the whole bearings of that subject, from the begin- 
ning to the end ; and he was determined that, while he 
lived, the first stone should never be pulled from the edifice 
in his state. He was a formidable adversary, because 
what he wanted in cultivation he made up in unscrupulous 
energy ; and, where he might have failed in argument, he 
could conquer by the cudgel and the bludgeon. He was, 
»as Frank Russel had supposed, the author of the paragraph 
which had appeared in the Trumpet of Freedom, which had 
already had its effect in awakening public suspicion. 

But what stung him to frenzy, when he thought of it, 
was, that every effort which he had hitherto made to re- 
cover possession of Harry had failed. In vain he had 
sent out hunters and dogs. The swamp had been tracked 
in vain. He boiled and burned with fierce tides of passion, 
as he thought of him in his security defying his power. 


248 


TOM GORDON’S PLANS. 


Some vague rumors had fallen upon his ear of the^exist- 
ence, in the swamp, of a negro conspirator, of great efiergy 
and power, whose lair had never yet been discovered ; and 
he determined that he would raise heaven and earth to find 
him. He began to suspect that there was, somehow, un- 
derstanding and communication between Harry and those 
who were left on the plantation, and he determined to 
detect it. This led to the scene of cruelty and tyranny to 
which we made allusion in a former chapter. The mangled 
body was buried, and Tom felt neither remorse nor shame. 
Why should he, protected by the express words of legal 
decision ? He had only met with an accident in the exercise 
of his lawful power on a slave in the act of rebellion. 

“ The fact is, Kite,” he said, to his boon-companion, 
Theophilus Kite, as they were one day sitting together, 
“ 1 ’m bound to have that fellow. I ’nt going to publish a 
proclamation of outlawry, and offer a reward for his head. 
That will bring it in, I ’m thinking. I ’ll put it up to a 
handsome figure, for that will be better than nothing.” 

“Pity you couldn’t catch him alive,” said Kite, “and 
make an example of him ! ” 

“ I know it,” said Tom. “ I ’d take him the long way 
round, that I would ! That fellow has been an eye-sore to 
me ever since I was a boy. I believe all the devils that 
are in me are up about him.” 

“Tom,” said Kite, “you’ve got the devil in you — no 
mistake I ” 

“ To be sure I have,” said Tom. “ I only want a chance 
to express him. I wish I could get hold of the fellow’s 
wife ! I could make him wince there, I guess. I ’ll get 
her, too, one of these days ! But, now, Kite, I ’ll tell 
you, the fact is, somebody round here is in league with 
him. They know about him, I know they do. There ’s that 
squeaky, leathery, long-nosed Skinflint, trades with the nig- 
gers in the swamp — I know he does 1 But he is a double- 
and-twisted liar, and you can’t get anything out of him. 
Cue of tnese days I ’ll burn up that old don of his, and 


TOM GORDON’S PLANS. 


249 


shoot him, if he don’t look out I Jim Stokes told me that 
he slept down there, one night, when he was tracking, and 
that he heard Skinflint talking with somebody between 
twelve and one o’clock ; and he looked out, and saw him 
selling powder to a nigger.” 

“ 0, that could n’t be Harry,” said Kite. 

“ No, but it ’s one of the gang that he is in with. And, 
then, there ’s that Hark. Jim says that he saw him talking, 
— giving a letter, that he got out of the post-office, to a man 
that rode off towards the woods. I thought we ’d have the 
truth out of his old hide ! But he did n’t hold out as I 
thought he would.” 

“ Hokum don’t understand bis business,” said Kite. 
“He shouldn’t have used Inin up so fast.’' 

“Hokum is a bother,” said Tom, “like all the rest of 
those fellows ! Hark was a desperately-resolute fellow, and 
it ’s well enough he is dead, because he was getting sullen, 
and making the others rebellious. Hokum, you see, had 
taken a fancy to his wife, and Hark was jealous.” 

“ Quite a romance ! ” said Kite, laughing. 

“ And now I ’ll tell you another thing,” said Tom, “ that 
I’m bound to reform. There’s a canting, sneaking, drib- 
bling, whining old priest, that ’s ravaging these parts, and 
getting up a muss among people about the abuses of the 
slaves ; and I ’m not going to have it. I ’m going to shut 
up his mouth. I shall inform him, pretty succinctly, that, if 
he does much more in this region, he ’ll be illustrated with 
a coat of tar-and-feathers.” 

“ Good for you ! ” said Kite. 

“Now,” said Tom, “I understand that to-night he is 
going to have a general snivelling season in the old log 
church, out on the cross run, and they are going to form 
a church on anti-slavery principles. Contemptible whelps ! 
Not a copper to bless themselves with ! Dirty, sweaty, 
greasy mechanics, with their spawn of children ! Think of 
the impudence of their getting together and passing anti- 
slavery resolutions, and resolving they won’t admit slave- 


250 


TOM GORDON’S PLANS. 


holders to the communion ! I have a great mind to let them 
try the dodge, once I By George, if I would n’t walk up 
and take their bread and wine, and pitch it to thunder 1 ” 

“ Are they really going to form such a church ? ” 
“That’s the talk,” said Tom. “But they’ll find they 
have reckoned without their host, I fancy ! You see, I just 
tipped Jim Stokes the wink. Says I, Jim, don’t you think 
they ’ll want you to help the music there, to-night ? Jim 
took at once ; and he said he would be on the ground with 
a dog or two, and some old tin pans. 0, we shall get them 
up an orchestra, I promise you I And some of our set are 
going over to see the fun. There’s Bill Akers, and Bob 
Story, and Sim Dexter, will be over here to dinner, and 
towards evening we ’ll ride over n 


CHAPTER XXV. 


LYNCH LAW 

The rays of the afternoon sun were shining through the 
fringy needles of the pines. The sound of the woodpecker 
reverberated through the stillness of the forest, answering 
to thousand woodland notes. Suddenly, along the distant 
path, a voice is heard singing, and the sound comes strangely 
on the ear through the dreamy stillness : 

" Jesus Christ has lived and died — 

What is all the world beside ? 

This to know is all I need. 

This to know is life indeed. 

Other wisdom seek I none — 

Teach me this, and this alone : 

Christ for me has lived and died, 

Christ for me was crucified.” 

And, as the last lines fall upon the ear, a figure, riding 
slowly on horseback, comes round the bend of the forest 
path. It is father Dickson. It was the habit of this good 
man, much of whose life was spent in solitary journeyings, 
to use the forest arches for that purpose for which they 
seemed so well designed, as a great cathedral of prayer 
and praise. He was riding with the reins loose over the 
horse’s neck, and a pocket-Bible in his hand. Occasionally 
he broke out into snatches of song, like the one which we 
heard him singing a few moments ago. As he rides along 
now, he seems absorbed in mental prayer. Father Dickson, 
in truth, had cause to pray. The plainness of speech which 
he felt bound to use had drawn down upon him opposition 
h. 22 

/ 


252 


LYNCH LAW. 


and opprobrium, and alienated some of his best friends 
The support which many had been willing to contribute to 
his poverty was entirely withdrawn. His wife, in feeble 
health, was toiling daily beyond her strength ; and hunger 
had looked in at the door, but each day prayer had driven 
it away. The petition, “Give us this day our daily bread,” 
had not yet failed to bring an answer ; but there was no 
bread for to-morrow. Many friendly advisers had told him 
that, if he would relinquish a futile and useless undertaking, 
he should have enough and to spare. He had been con- 
ferred with by the elders in a vacant church, in the town of 
E., who said to him, “ We enjoy your preaching when you 
let alone controverted topics ; and if you ’ll agree to confine 
yourself solely to the Gospel, and say nothing on any of 
the delicate and exciting subjects of the day, we shall rejoice 
in your ministrations.” They pleaded with him his poverty, 
and the poor health of his wife, and the necessities of his 
children ; but he answered, “ ' Man shall not live by bread 
alone.’ God is able to feed me, and he will do it.” They 
went away, saying that he was a fool, that he was crazy. 
He was not the first whose brethren had said, “ He is be- 
side himself.” 

As he rode along through the forest paths, he talked of 
his wants to his Master. “ Thou knoweSt,” he said, “ how 
I suffer. Thou knowest how feeble my poor wife is, and 
how it distresses us both to have our children grow up 
without education. We cast ourselves on thee. Let us not 
deny thee ; let us not betray thee. Thou hadst not where 
to lay thy head ; let us not murmur. The disciple is not 
above his master, nor the servant above his lord.” And 
then he sang : 


“ Jesus, I my cross have taken, 

All to leave and follow thee ; 
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken, 

Thou my all henceforth shalt be ! 
Let the world despise and leave me — 
They have left my Saviour too ; 


LYNCH LAW. 


253 


Human looks and words deceive me — 

Thou art not, like them, untrue ! 

And, while thou shalt smile upon me, 

God of wisdom, power, and might. 

Foes may hate, and friends disown me, 

Show thy face and all is bright ! ” 

And, as he sang and prayed, that strange joy arose within 
him which, like the sweetness of night flowers, is born of 
darkness and tribulation. The soul hath in it somewhat of 
the divine, in that it can have joy in endurance beyond the 
joy of indulgence. 

They mistake who suppose that the highest happiness 
lies in wishes accomplished — in prosperity, wealth, favor, 
and success. There has been a joy in dungeons and on 
racks passing the joy of harvest. A joy strange and 
solemn, mysterious even to its possessor. A white stone 
dropped from that signet-ring, peace, which a dying Saviour 
took from his own bosom, and bequeathed to those who 
endure the cross, despising the shame. 

As father Dickson rode on, he lifted his voice, in solemn 
exultation : 


u Soul, then know thy full salvation ; 

Rise o’er fear, doubt, and care ; 

Joy to find, in every station. 

Something still to do or bear. 

Think what spirit dwells within thee ; 

Think what Father’s smiles are thine ; 

Think that Jesus died to win thee ; 

Child of heaven, wilt thou repine ? 

At this moment Dr. Cushing, in the abundant comforts 
of his home, might have envied father Dickson in his deser 
tion and poverty. For that peace seldom visited him. Ho 
struggled wearily along the ways of duty, never fulfilling 
his highest ideal; wearied by confusing accusations of 
conscience, and deeming himself happy only because, hav- 
ing never lived in any other state, he knew not what hap- 
piness was like He alternately condemned his brother’s 


254 


LYNCH LAW. 


rashness, and sighed as he thought of his uncompromising 
spirituality ; and once or twice he had written him a 
friendly letter of caution, enclosing him a five-dollar bill, 
wishing that he might succeed, begging that he would 
be careful, and ending with the pious wish that we might 
all be guided aright ; which supplication, in many cases, 
answers the purpose, in a man’s inner legislation, of lay- 
ing troublesome propositions on the table. Meanwhile the 
shades of evening drew on, and father Dickson approached 
the rude church which stood deep in the shadow of th<> 
woods. In external appearance it had not the pretensions 
even of a New England barn, but still it had echoed 
prayers and praises from humble, sincere worshippers. 
As father Dickson rode up to the door, he was surprised 
to find quite a throng of men, armed with bludgeons and 
pistols, waiting before it. One of these now stepped for- 
ward, and, handing him a letter, said, 

“ Here, I have a letter for you to read ! ” 

Father Dickson put it calmly in his pocket. “ I will read 
it after service,” said he. 

The man then laid hold of his bridle. “ Come out here ! ” 
he said ; “ I want to talk to you.” 

“ Thank you, friend, I will talk with you after meeting,” 
said he. “ It ’s time for me to begin service.” 

“ The fact is,” said a surly, wolfish-looking fellow, who 
came behind the first speaker, “ the fact is, we an’t going 

to have any of your d d abolition meetings here 1 If he 

can’t get it out, I can ! ” 

“ Friends,” said father Dickson, mildly, " by what right 
do you presume to stop me?” 

“ We think,” said the first man, “ that you are doing 
harm, violating the laws — ” 

11 Have you any warrant from the civil authorities to stop 
me ? ” 

“ sir,” said the first speaker; but the second one, 
ejecting a large quid of tobacco from his mouth, took up 
the explanation in a style and taste peculiarly his own. 


LYNCH LAW. 


255 


“ Now, old cock, you may as well know fust as last, that 
we don't care a cuss for the civil authorities, as you call 
them, 'cause we 's going to do what we darn please ; and 
we don't please have you yowping abolishionism round 
here, and putting deviltry in the heads of our niggersl 
Now, that ar 's plain talk I " 

This speech was chorused by a group of men on the steps, 
who now began to gather round and shout, 

“ Give it to him ! That 's into him ! make the wool fly ! " 

Father Dickson, who was perfectly calm, now remarked 
in the shadow of the wood, at no great distance, three or 
four young men mounted on horses, who laughed brutally, 
and called out to the speaker, 

“ Give him some more I " 

“ My friends," said father Dickson, “ I came here to per- 
form a duty, at the call of my heavenly Master, and you 
have no right to stop me." 

“ Well, how will you help yourself, old bird ? Supposing 
we have n't ? " 

“ Remember, my friends, that we shall all stand side by 
side at the judgment seat to give an account for this night's 
transactions. How will you answer for it to God ? " 

A loud, sneering laugh came from the group under the 
trees, and a voice, which we recognize as Tom Gordon's, 
calls out, 

“ He is coming the solemn dodge on you, boys ! Get on 
your long faces I " 

11 Come," said the roughest of the speakers, “ this here 
don't go down with us ! We don't know nothing about no 
judgments ; and as to God, we an't none of us seen him, 
lately. We 'spect he don't travel round these parts." 

“ The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the 
evil and the good," said father Dickson. 

Here one in the mob mewed like a cat, another barked 
like a dog, and the spectators under the tree laughed more 
loudly than ever. 

14 1 say," said the first speaker, 11 you shan’t go to get- 
ii. 22* 


256 


LYNCH LAW. 


ting up rat-traps and calling ’em meetings ! This yer preach- 
ing o ; yourn is a cussed sell, and we won’t stand it no 
longer ! We shall have an insurrection among our niggers. 
Pretty business, getting up churches where you won’t have 
slaveholders commune ! I ’s got niggers myself, and I 
know .1 ’s bigger slave than they be, and I wished I was 
shet of them ! But I an’t going to have no d d old par- 

son dictating to me about my affairs I And we won’t, 
none of the rest of us, will we ? ’Cause them that an’t got 
niggers now means to have. Don’t we boys ? ” 

“ Ay, ay, that we do I Give it to him ! ” was shouted 
from the party. 

“ It ’s our right to have niggers, and we will have them, 
if we can get them,” continued the speaker. 

“ Who gave you the right ? ” said father Dickson. 

“ Who gave it ? Why, the constitution of the United 
States, to be sure, man ! Who did you suppose ? An’t we 
got the freest government in the world ? Is we going to be 
shut out of communion, ’cause we holds niggers ? Don’t 
care a cuss for your old communion, but it ’s the principle 
I ’s going for ! Now, I tell you what, old fellow, we ’ve 
got you ; and you have got to promise, right off the reel, 
that you won’t say another word on this yer subject.” 

“ Friend, I shall make no such promise,” said father 
Dickson, in a tone so mild and steadfast that there was a 
momentary pause. 

“ You ’d better,” said a man in the crowd, “ if you know 
what ’s good for you ! ” 

A voice now spoke from the circle of the young men, 

“ Never cave in, boys ! ” 

“ No fear of us ! ” responded the man who had taken 
the most prominent part in the dialogue hitherto. “ We ’ll 
serve it out to him ! Now, ye see, old feller, ye ’re treed, 
and may as well come down, as the coon said to Davy. 
You can’t help yourself, ’cause we are ten to one ; and if 
you don’t promise peaceable, we ’ll make you ! ” 

“ My friends,” said tather Dickson, “ I want you to think 


LYNCH LAW. 


257 


what you are doing. Your good sense must teach you the 
impropriety of your course. You know that you are doing 
wrong. You know that it is n’t right to trample on all law, 
both human and divine, out of professed love to it. You 
must see that your course will lead to perfect anarchy and 
confusion. The time may come when your opinions will be 
as unpopular as mine.” 

“ Well, what then ? ” 

“ Why, if your course prevails, you must be lynched, 
stoned, tarred and feathered. This is a two-edged sword 
you are using, and some day you may find the edge turned 
towards you. You may be seized, just as you are seizing 
me. You know the men that threw Daniel into the den got 
thrown in themselves.” 

“ Daniel who ? ” shouted one of the company ; and the 
young men under the tree laughed insultingly. 

“ Why are you afraid to let me preach, this evening ? ” said 
father Dickson. “ Why can’t you hear me, and, if I say 
anything false, why can’t you show me the falsehood of it ? 
It seems to me it ’s a weak cause that can only get along by 
stopping men’s mouths.” 

“ No, no — we an’t going to have it ! ” said the man who 
had taken the most active part. “ And now you ’ve got to 
sign a solemn promise, this night, that you won’t ever open 
your mouth again about this yer subject, or we ’ll make it 
worse for you ! ” 

“ I shall never make such a promise. You need not think 
to terrify me into it, for I am not afraid. You must kill me 
before you can stop me.” 

“ D n you, then, old man,” said one of the young 

men, riding up by the side of him, “I ’ll tell you what you 
shall do ! You shall sign a pledge to leave North Carolina 
in three days, and never come back again, and take your 
whole spawn and litter with you, or you shall be chastised 
for your impudence ! Now, look out, sir, for you are speak- 
ing to your betters ! Your insolence is intolerable I What 
business have you passing strictures reflecting on the con- 


258 


LYNCH LAW. 


duct of gentlemen of family ? Think yourself happy that 
we let you go out of the state without the punishment that 
your impudence deserves ! ” 

“ Mr. Gordon, I am sorry to hear you speaking in that 
way,” said father Dickson, composedly. “By right of 
your family, you certainly ought to know how to speak as 
a gentleman. You are holding language to me that you 
have no right to hold, and uttering threats that you have no 
means of enforcing.” 

“ You ’ll see if I have n’t 1 ” replied the other, with an 
oath. “ Here, boys 1 ” 

He beckoned one or two of the leaders to his side, and 
spoke with them in a low voice. One of them seemed in- 
clined to remonstrate. 

“ No, no — it ’s too bad ! ” he said. 

But the others said, 

“ Yes, it serves him right 1 We ’ll do it 1 Hurra, boys ! 
We ’ll help on the parson home, and help him kindle his 
fire ! ” 

There was a general shout, as the whole party, striking 
up a ribald song, seized father Dickson’s horse, turned him 
round, and began marching in the direction of his cabin in 
the woods. 

Tom Gordon and his companions, who rode foremost, filled 
the air with blasphemous and obscene songs, which entirely 
drowned the voice of father Dickson whenever he attempted 
to make himself heard. Before they started, Tom Gordon 
had distributed freely of whiskey among them, so that what 
little manliness there might have been within seemed to be 
“ set on fire of hell.” It was one of those moments that try 
men’s souls. 

Father Dickson, as he was hurried along, thought of that 
other one, who was led by an infuriate mob through the 
streets of Jerusalem, and he lifted his heart in prayer to 
the Apostle and High Priest of his profession, the God in 
Jesus. When they arrived before his little cabin, he made 
ne more effort to arrest their attention. 


LYNCH LAW. 


259 


“ My brethren,” he said. 

“None of your brethren! Stop that cant!” said Tom 
Gordon. 

“Hear me one word,” said father Dickson. “My wife 
is quite feeble. I ’m sure you would n’t wish to hurt a sick 
woman, who never did harm to any mortal creature.” 

“ Well, then,” said Tom Gordon, facing round to him, “ if 
you care so very much about your wife, you can very easily 
save her any further trouble. Just give us the promise we * 
want, and we 'll go away peaceably, and leave you. But, 
if you won't, as true as there is a God in heaven, we '11 pull 
down every stick of timber in your old kennel ! I '11 tell you 
what, old man, you 've got a master to deal with, now ! ” 

“ I cannot promise not to preach upon this subject.” 

“ Well, then, you must promise to take yourself out of 
the state. You can go among your Northern brethren, and 
howl and mawl round there ; but we are not going to have 
you here. I have as much respect for respectable ministers 
of the Gospel as any one, when they confine themselves to 
the duties of their calling ; but, when they come down to 
be intriguing in our worldly affairs, they must expect to be 
treated as we treat other folks that do that. Their black 
coats shan't protect them ! We are not going to be priest- 
ridden, are we, boys ? " 

A loud whoop of inflamed and drunken merriment cho- 
rused this question. Just at this moment the door of the 
cottage was opened, and a pale, sickly-looking woman came 
gliding out to the gate. 

“ My dear,” she said, and her voice was perfectly calm, 

“ don't yield a hair's breadth, on my account. I can bear 
as well as you. I am not afraid. I am ready to die for 
conscience' sake. Gentlemen,” she said, “ there is not much 
in this house of any value, except two sick children. If it 
is agreeable to you to pull it down, you can do it. Our 
goods are hardly worth spoiling, but you can spoil them. 
My husband, be firm ; don't yield an inch ! ” 

It is one of the worst curses of slavery that it effaces 


260 


LYNCH LAW. 


from the breast all manly feeling with regard to woman. 
Every one remembers the story how the frail and delicate 
wife of Lovejoy placed her weakness as a shield before the 
chamber door where her husband was secreted, and was 
fought with brutal oaths and abuse by the drunken gang, 
who were determined to pass over her body, if necessary, 
to his hearth They who are trained to whip women in a 
servile position, of course can have none of the respect which 
a free man feels for woman as woman. They respect the 
sex when they see it enshrined by fashion, wealth, and 
power ; but they tread it in the dust when in poverty and 
helplessness it stands in the path of their purposes. 

“ Woman,” said Tom Gordon, “you are a -fool 1 You 
need n’t think to come it round us with any of that talk 1 
You need n’t think we are going to stop on your account, 
for we shan’t ! We know what we are about.” 

“ So does God ! ” said the woman, fixing her eye on him 
with one of those sudden looks of power with which a 
noble sentiment sometimes lights up for a moment the 
weakest form. 

There was a momentary pause, and then Tom broke out 
into oaths and curses. 

“ I ’ll tell you what, boys,” he said, “ we had better bring 
matters to a point ! Here, tie him up to this tree, and give 
him six-and-thirty ! He is so dreadful fond of the niggers, 
let him fare with them ! We know how to get a promise 
out of him ! ” 

The tiger was now fully awake in the crowd. Wild 
oaths and cries of “ Give it to him ! Give it to him, G — d 
d n him ! ” arose. 

Father Dickson stood calm ; and, beholding him, they saw 
his face as if it had been that of an angel, and they gnashed 
on him with their teeth. A few moments more, and he was 
divested of his outer garments, and bound to a tree. 

“ Now will you promise ? ” said Tom Gordon, taking out 
his watch. “ I give you five minutes.” 

The children, now aroused, were looking out, crying, from 


LYNCH LAW. 


261 


the door. His wife walked out and took her place before 
him. 

“ Stand out of the way, old woman ! ” said Tom Gordon. 

“ I will not stand out of the way 1 ” she said, throwing 
her arms round her husband. “ You shall not get to him 
but over my body ! ” 

“ Ben Hyatt, take her away ! ” said Tom Gordon. “ Treat 
her decently, as long as she behaves herself.” 

A man forced her away. She fell fainting on his shoulder. 

“ Lay her down,” said Tom Gordon. “ Now, sir, your 
five minutes are up. What have you got to say ? ” 

“ I have to say that I shall not comply with your de- 
mands.” 

“Very well,” said Tom, “it's best to be explicit.” 

He drew his horse a little back, and said to a man who 
was holding a slave-whip behind, 

“ Give it to him ! ” 

The blows descended. He uttered no sound. The mob - , 
meanwhile, tauntingly insulted him. 

11 How do you like it ? What do you think of it ? Preach 
us a sermon, now, can’t you ? Come, where ’s your text ? ” 

“ He is getting stars and stripes, now ! ” said one. 

“ I reckon he ’ll see stars ! ” said another. 

“ Stop,” said Tom Gordon. “ Well, my friend,” he said, 
“you see we are in earnest, and we shall carry this 
through to the bitter end, you may rely on it. You won’t 
get any sympathy ; you won’t get any support. There 
an’t a minister in the state that will stand by you. They 
all have sense enough to let our affairs alone. They ’d any 
of them hold a candle here, as the good elder did when they 
thrashed Dresser, down at Nashville. Come, now, will you 
cave in ? ” 

But at this moment the conversation was interrupted by 
the riding up of four or five gentlemen on horseback, the 
headmost of whom was Clayton. 

“ What ’s this ? ” he exclaimed, hurriedly. “ What, Mr. 


262 


LYNCH LAW. 


Gordon — father Dickson ! What — what am I to under- 
stand by this ? ” 

“ Who the devil cares what you understand ? It ’s no 
business of yours,” said Tom Gordon ; “so stand out of my 
way ! ” 

“ I shall make it some of my business,” said Clayton, 
turning round to one of his companions. “ Mr. Brown, 
you are a magistrate ? ” 

Mr. Brown, a florid, puffy-looking old gentleman, now 
rode forward. 

“ Bless my soul, but this is shocking ! Mr. Gordon, 
don’t ! how can you ? My boys, you ought to consider ! ” 

Clayton, meanwhile, had thrown himself off his horse, and 
cut the cords which bound father Dickson to the tree. The 
sudden reaction of feeling overcame him. He fell, fainting. 

“ Are you not ashamed of yourselves ? ” said Clayton, 
indignantly glancing round. “ Is n’t this pretty business 
for great, strong men like you, abusing ministers that you 
know won’t fight, and women and children that you know 
can’t ! ” 

“ Do you mean to apply that language to me ? ” said Tom 
Gordon. 

“ Yes, sir, I do mean just that ! ” said Clayton, looking at 
him, while he stretched his tall figure to its utmost height. 

“Sir, that remark demands satisfaction.” 

“You are welcome to all the satisfaction you can get,” 
said Clayton, coolly. 

“ You shall meet me,” said Tom Gordon, “ where you 
shall answer for that remark ! ” 

“ I am not a fighting man,” said Clayton ; “ but, if I were, 
I should never consent to meet any one but my equals. 
When a man stoops to do the work of a rowdy and a bully, 
he falls out of the sphere of gentlemen. As for you,” said 
Clayton, turning to the rest of the company, “there ’s more 
apology for you. You have not been brought up to know 
better. Take my advice ; disperse yourselves now, or I 
shall take means to have this outrage brought to justice.” 


LYNCH LAW. 


263 


There is often a magnetic force in the appearance, amid 
an excited mob, of a man of commanding presence, who 
seems perfectly calm and decided. The mob stood irreso- 
lute. 

“ Come, Tom,” said Kite, pulling him by the sleeve, 
“ we ’ve given him enough, at any rate.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Mr. Brown, “ Mr. Gordon, I advise 
you to go home. We must all keep the peace, you know. 
Come, boys, you ’ve done enough for one night, I should 
hope I Go home, now, and let the old man be ; and there ’s 
something to buy you a treat, down at Skinflint’s. Come, 
do the handsome, now ! ” 

Tom Gordon sullenly rode away, with his two associates 
each side ; but, before he went, he said to Clayton, 

“ You shall hear of me again, one of these days ! ” 

“ As you please,” said Clayton. 

The party now set themselves about recovering and com- 
forting the frightened family. The wife was carried in and 
laid down on the bed. Father Dickson was soon restored 
so as to be able to sit up, and, being generally known and 
respected by the company, received many expressions of 
sympathy and condolence. One of the men was an elder 
in the church which had desired his ministerial services 
He thought this a good opportunity of enforcing some of 
his formerly expressed opinions. 

“ Now, father Dickson,” he said, “ this just shows you 
the truth of what I was telling you. This course of yours 
won’t do ; you see it won’t, now. Now, if you ’d agree 
not to say anything of these troublesome matters, and just 
confine yourself to the preaching of the Gospel, you see 
you would n’t get into any more trouble ; and, after all, it ’s 
the Gospel that ’s the root of the matter. The Gospel will 
gradually correct all these evils, if you don’t say anything 
about them. You see, the state of the community is pecu- 
liar. They won’t bear it. We feel the evils of slavery just 
as much as you do. Our souls are burdened under it,” he 
said, complacently wiping his face with his handkerchief, 
n. 23 


264 


LYNCH LAW. 


“ But Providence does n’t appear to open any door here for 
us to do anything. I think we ought to abide on the patient 
waiting on the Lord, who, in his own good time, will bring 
light out of darkness, and order out of confusion.” 

This last phrase being a part of a stereotyped exhortation 
with which the good elder was wont to indulge his brethren 
in church prayer-meetings, he delivered it in the sleepy 
drawl which he reserved for such occasions. 

“ Well,” said father Dickson, “ I must say that I don’t 
see that the preaching of the Gospel, in the way we have 
preached it hitherto, has done anything to rectify the evil. 
It ’s a bad sign if our preaching does n’t make a conflict. 
When the apostles came to a place, they said, * These men 
that turn the world upside down are come hither.’ ” 

“ But,” said Mr. Brown, “ you must consider our insti- 
tutions are peculiar ; our negroes are ignorant and inflam- 
mable, easily wrought upon, and the most frightful conse- 
quences may result. That ’s the reason why there is so 
much sensation when any discussion is begun which relates 
to them. Now, I was in Nashville when that Dresser affair 
took place. He hadn’t said a word — he hadn’t opened 
his mouth, even — but he was known to be an abolitionist ; 
and so they searched his trunks and papers, and there they 
found documents expressing abolition sentiments, sure 
enough. Well, everybody, ministers and elders, joined in 
that affair, and stood by to see him whipped. I thought, 
myself, they went too far. But there is just where it is. 
People are not reasonable, and they won’t be reasonable, in 
such cases. It ’s too much to ask of them ; and so every- 
body ought to be cautious. Now, I wish, for my part, that 
ministers would confine themselves to their appropriate 
duties. ‘ Christ’s kingdom is not of this world.’ And, 
then, you don’t know Tom Gordon. He is a terrible fellow 1 
I never want to come in conflict with him. I thought I ’d 
put the best face on it, and persuade him away. I did n’t 
want to make Tom Gordon my enemy. And I think, Mr. 
Dickson, if you must preach these doctrines, I think it would 


LYNCH LAW. 


265 


be best for you to leave the state. Of course, we don’t 
want to restrict any man’s conscience ; but when any kind 
of preaching excites brawls and confusion, and inflames 
the public mind, it seems to be a duty to give it up.” 

" Yes,” said Mr. Cornet, the elder, "we ought to follow 
the things which make for peace — such things whereby 
one may edify another.” 

" Don’t you see, gentlemen,” said Mr. Clayton, "that such 
a course is surrendering our liberty of free speech into the 
hands of a mob ? If Tom Gordon may dictate what is to 
be said on one subject, he may on another ; and the rod 
which has been held over our friend’s head to-night may be 
held over ours. Independent of the right or wrong of 
father Dickson’s principles, he ought to maintain his posi- 
tion, for the sake of maintaining the right of free opinion in 
the state.” 

" Why,” said Mr. Cornet, " the Scripture saith, ‘ If they 
persecute you into one city, flee ye into another.’ ” 

" That was said,” said Clayton, " to a people that lived 
under despotism, and had no rights of liberty given them 
to maintain. But, if we give way before mob law, we make 
ourselves slaves of the worst despotism on earth.” 

But Clayton spoke to men whose ears were stopped by 
the cotton of slothfulness and love of ease. They rose up, 
and said, 

" It was time for them to be going.” 

Clayton expressed his intention of remaining over the 
night, to afford encouragement and assistance to his friends, 
in case of any further emergency. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 


MOKE VIOLENCE. 

Clayton rose the next morning, and found his friends 
much better than he had expected after the agitation and 
abuse of the night before. They seemed composed and 
cheerful. 

“ I am surprised,” he said, “ to see that your wife is able 
to be up this morning.” 

“They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength,” 
said father Dickson. “ How often I have found it so ! We 
have seen times when I and my wife have both been so ill 
that we scarcely thought we had strength to help ourselves ; 
and a child has been taken ill, or some other emergency has 
occurred that called for immediate exertion, and we have 
been to the Lord and found strength. Our way has been 
hedged up many a time — the sea before us and the Egyp- 
tians behind us ; but the sea has always opened when we 
have stretched our hands to the Lord. I have never sought 
the Lord in vain. He has allowed great troubles to come 
upon us ; but he always delivers us.” 

Clayton recalled the sneering, faithless, brilliant Frank 
Russel, and compared him, in his own mind, with the sim- 
ple, honest man before him. 

“ No,” he said, to himself, “ human nature is not a hum- 
bug, after all. There are some real men — some who will 
not acquiesce in what is successful, if it be wrong.” 

Clayton was in need of such living examples ; for, in re- 
gard to religion, he was in that position which is occupied 
by too many young men of high moral sentiment in this 


MORE VIOLENCE. 


267 


country. What he had seen of the worldly policy and time- 
serving spirit of most of the organized bodies professing to 
represent the Christian faith and life, had deepened the 
shadow of doubt and distrust which persons of strong indi- 
viduality and discriminating minds are apt to feel in certain 
stages of their spiritual development. Great afflictions — 
those which tear up the roots of the soul — are often suc- 
ceeded, in the course of the man’s history, by a period of 
scepticism. The fact is, such afflictions are disenchanting 
powers ; they give to the soul an earnestness and a power 
of discrimination which no illusion can withstand. They 
teach us what we need, what we must have to rest upon ; 
and, in consequence, thousands of little formalities, and 
empty shows, and dry religious conventionalities, are scat- 
tered by it like chaff. The soul rejects them, in her indig- 
nant anguish ; and, finding so much that is insincere, and 
untrue, and unreliable, she has sometimes hours of doubting 
all things. 

Clayton saw again in the minister what he had seen in 
Nina — a soul swayed by an attachment to an invisible per- 
son, whose power over it was the power of a personal at- 
tachment, and who swayed it, not by dogmas or commands, 
merely, but by the force of a sympathetic emotion. Be- 
holding, as in a glass, the divine image of his heavenly 
friend, insensibly to himself the minister was changing into 
the same image. The good and the beautiful to him was 
an embodied person, — even Jesus his Lord. 

u What may be your future course ? ” said Clayton, with 
anxiety. “ Will you discontinue your labors in this state ?” 

11 1 may do so, if I find positively that there is no gaining 
a hearing / ’ said father Dickson. “ I think we owe it to our 
state not to give up the point without a trial. There are 
those who are willing to hear me — willing to make a be- 
ginning with me. It is true they are poor and unfashion- 
able ; but still it is my duty not to desert them till I have 
tried, at least, whether the laws can’t protect me in the ex- 
ercise of my duty. The hearts of all men are in the hands 
n. 23* 


2G8 


MORE VIOLENCE. 


of the Lord. He turneth them as the rivers of water are 
turned. This evil is a great and a trying one. It is grad- 
ually lowering the standard of morals in our churches, till 
men know not what spirit they are of. I held it my duty 
not to yield to the violence of the tyrant, and bind myself 
to a promise to leave, till I had considered what the will of 
my Master would be.” 

“I should be sorry,” said Clayton, “to think that North 
Carolina could n't protect you. I am sure, when the par- 
ticulars of this are known, there will be a general reproba- 
tion from all parts of the country. You might remove to 
some other part of the state, not cursed by the residence of 
a man like Tom Gordon. I will confer with my uncle, your 
friend Dr. Cushing, and see if some more eligible situation 
cannot be found, where you can prosecute your labors. He 
is at this very time visiting his wife’s father, in E., and I 
will ride over and talk with him to-day. Meanwhile,” said 
Clayton, as he rose to depart, “allow me to leave with you 
a little contribution to help the cause of religious freedom 
f n which you are engaged.” 

And Clayton, as he shook hands with his friend and his 
wife> left an amount of money with them such as had not 
crossed their palms for many a day. Bidding them adieu, 
i ride of a few hours carried him to E., where he communi- 
jated to Dr. Cushing the incidents of the night before. 

“ Why, it ’s perfectly shocking — abominable ! ” said Dr. 
Cushing. “Why, what are we coming to? My dear 
young friend, this shows the necessity of prayer. ‘ When 
the enemy cometh in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord 
must lift up a standard against him.’ ” 

“My dear uncle,” said Clayton, rather impatiently, “it 
seems to me the Lord has lifted up a standard in the person 
of this very man, and people are too cowardly to rally 
round it.” 

“ Well, my dear nephew, it strikes me you are rather ex- 
ted,” said Dr. Cushing, good-naturedly. 

“ Excited ? ” said Clayton. “ I ought to be excited 1 You 


MORE VIOLENCE. 


269 


ought to be excited, too ! Here ’s a good man beginning 
what you think a necessary reform, and who does it in a 
way perfectly peaceable and lawful, who is cloven down un- 
der the hoof of a mob, and all you can think of doing is to 
pray to the Lord to raise up a standard ! What would you 
think, if a man’s house were on fire, and he should sit pray- 
ing the Lord that in his mysterious providence he would put 
it out ? ” 

“ 0, the cases are not parallel,” said Dr. Cushing. 

“ I think they are,” said Clayton. “ Our house is the 
state, and our house is on fire by mob law ; and, instead of 
praying the Lord to put it out, you ought to go to work 
and put it out yourself. If all you ministers would make a 
stand against this, uncle, and do all you can to influence 
those to whom you are preaching, it wouldn’t be done 
again.” 

“ I am sure I should be glad to do something. Poor 
father Dickson 1 such a good man as he is I But, then, I 
think, Clayton, he was rather imprudent. It don’t do, this 
unadvised way of proceeding. We ought to watch against 
rashness, I think. We are too apt to be precipitate, and 
not await the leadings of Providence. Poor Dickson ! I 
tried to caution him, the last time I wrote to him. To be 
sure, it ’s no excuse for them ; but, then, I ’ll write to 
brother Barker on the subject, and we ’ll see if we can’t 
get an article in the Christian Witness. I don’t think it 
would be best to allude to these particular circumstances, 
or to mention any names ; but there might be a general arti- 
cle on the importance of maintaining the right of free 
speech, and of course people can apply it for themselves.” 

“You remind me,” said Clayton, “of a man who pro- 
posed commencing an attack on a shark by throwing a 
sponge at him. But, now, really, uncle, I am concerned for 
the safety of this good man. Is n’t there any church near 
you to which he can be called ? I heard him at the camp- 
meeting, and I think he is an excellent preacher.” 

“ There are a good many churches,” said Dr. Cushing, 


270 


MORE VIOLENCE. 


“which would be glad of him, if it were not for the course 
he pursues on that subject ; and I really can’t feel that he 
does right to throw away his influence so. He might be 
the means of converting souls, if he would only be quiet 
about this.” 

“ Be quiet about fashionable sins,” said Clayton, “ in or- 
der to get a chance to convert souls ! What sort of con- 
verts are those who are not willing to hear the truth on 
every subject ? I should doubt conversions that can only 
be accomplished by silence on great practical immoralities.” 

“ But,” said Dr. Cushing, “ Christ and the apostles did n’t 
preach on the abuses of slavery, and they alluded to it as 
an existing institution.” 

“ Nor did they preach on the gladiatorial shows,” said 
Clayton; “and Paul draws many illustrations from them. 
Will you take the principle that everything is to be let 
alone now about which the apostles did n’t preach directly ? ” 

“ I don’t want to enter into that discussion now,” said 
Dr. Cushing. “ I believe I ’ll ride over and see brother 
Dickson. After all, he is a dear, good man, and I love 
him. I ’d like to do something for him, if I were not afraid 
it might be misunderstood.” 

Toward evening, however, Clayton, becoming uneasy at 
the lonely situation of his clerical friend, resolved to ride 
over and pass the night with him, for the sake of protecting 
him ; and, arming himself with a brace of pistols, he pro- 
ceeded on his ride. As the day had been warm, he put off 
his purpose rather late, and darkness overtook him before 
he had quite accomplished his journey. 

Riding deliberately through the woodland path in the 
vicinity of the swamp, he was startled by hearing the tramp 
of horses’ hoofs behind him. Three men, mounted on horse- 
back, were coming up, the headmost of whom, riding up 
quickly behind, struck him so heavy a blow with a gutta 
percha cane, as to fell him to the earth. In an instant, 
however, he was on his feet again, and had seized the bridle 
of his horse. 


MORE VIOLENCE. 


271 

“ Who are you ? ” said he ; for, by the dim light that 
remained of the twilight, he could perceive that they all 
wore masks. 

“ We are men,” said one of them, whose voice Clayton 
did not recognize, “ that know how to deal with fellows who 
insult gentlemen, and then refuse to give them honorable 
satisfaction.” 

“ And,” said the second speaker, “ we know how to deal 
with renegade abolitionists, who are covertly undermining 
our institutions.” 

“ And,” said Clayton, coolly, “ you understand how to be 
cowards ; for none but cowards would come three to one, 
and strike a man from behind ! Shame on you I Well, 
gentlemen, act your pleasure. Your first blow has disabled 
my right arm. If you wish my watch and my purse, you 
may help yourselves, as cut-throats generally do 1 ” # 

The stinging contempt which was expressed in these last 
words seemed to enrage the third man, who had not spoken. 
With a brutal oath, he raised his cane again, and struck at 
him. 

“ Strike a wounded man, who cannot help himself — do ! ” 
said Clayton. “ Show yourself the coward you are ! You 
are brave in attacking defenceless women and children, and 
ministers of the Gospel 1 ” 

This time the blow felled Clayton to the earth, and Tom 
Gordon, precipitating himself from his saddle, proved his 
eligibility for Congress by beating his defenceless acquaint- 
ance on the head, after the fashion of the chivalry of South 
Carolina. But, at this moment, a violent blow from an unseen 
hand struck his right arm, and it fell, broken, at his side. 
Mad with pain, he poured forth volumes of oaths, such as 
our readers have never heard, and the paper refuses to re- 
ceive. And a deep voice said from the woods, 

“ Woe to the bloody and deceitful man 1 ” 

“ Look for the fellow ! where is he ? ” said Tom Gordon. 

The crack of a rifle, and a bullet which passed right over 


272 


MORE VIOLENCE. 


his head, answered from the swamp, and the voice, wnich 
he knew was Harry’s, called from within the thicket, 

_ ‘Tom Gordon, beware! Remember Hark!” At the 
same time another rifle-shot came over their heads. 

“ Come, come,” said the other two, “ there ’s a gang of 
them. We had better be off. You can’t do anything with 
that broken arm, there.” And, helping Tom into the sad- 
dle, the three rode away precipitately. 

As soon as they were gone, Harry and Dred emerged 
from the thicket. The latter was reported among his people 
to have some medical and surgical skill He raised Clayton 
up, and examined him carefully. 

“ He is not dead,” he said. 

“ What shall we do for him ? ” said Harry. “ Shall we 
take him along to the minister’s cabin ? ” 

“ No, no,” said Dred ; “ that would only bring the Phil- 
istines upon him ! ” 

“ It ’s full three miles to E.,” said Harry. “ It would n’t 
do to risk going there.” 

“ No, indeed,” said Dred. “ We must take him to our 
stronghold of Engedi, even as Samson x>re the gates of 
Gaza. Our women shall attend him, and when he is recov 
ered we will set him on his journey.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


ENGEDL 

The question may occur to our readers, why a retreat 
which appeared so easily accessible to the negroes of the 
vicinity in which our story is laid, should escape the vigi- 
lance of hunters. V 

In all despotic countries, however, it will be found that 
the oppressed party become expert in the means of secrecy. 
It is also a fact that the portion of the community who are 
trained to labor enjoy all that advantage over the more 
indolent portion of it which can be given by a vigorous 
physical system, and great capabilities of endurance. With- 
out a doubt, the balance of the physical strength of the South 
now lies in the subject race. Usage familiarizes the dwell- 
ers of the swamp with the peculiarities of their location, 
and gives them the advantage in it that a mountaineer has 
in his own mountains. Besides, they who take their life in 
their hand exercise their faculties with more vigor and 
clearness than they who have only money at stake ; and this 
advantage the negroes had over the hunters. 

Dred’s “ strong hold of Engedi,” as we have said, was 
isolated from the rest of the swamp by some twenty yards 
of deep morass, in which it was necessary to wade almost 
to the waist. The shore presented to the eye only the 
appearance of an impervious jungle of cat-brier and grape- 
vine rising out of the water. There was but one spot 
on which there was a clear space to set foot on, and that 
was the place where Dred crept up on the night when we 
first introduced the locality to our readers’ attention. 


274 


ENGEDI. 


The hunters generally satisfied themselves with exploring 
more apparently accessible portions ; and, unless betrayed 
by those to whom Dred had communicated the clue, there 
was very little chance that any accident would ever disclose 
the retreat. 

Dred himself appeared to be gifted with that peculiar 
faculty of discernment of spirits which belonged to his father, 
Denmark Vesey, sharpened into a preternatural intensity 
by the habits of his wild and dangerous life. The men he 
selected for trust were men as impenetrable as himself, the 
most vigorous in mind and body on all the plantations. 

The perfectness of his own religious enthusiasm, his 
absolute certainty that he was inspired of God, as a leader 
and deliverer, gave him an ascendency over the minds of 
those who followed him, which nothing but religious enthu- 
siasm ever can give. And this was further confirmed by 
the rigid austerity of his life. For all animal comforts he 
appeared to entertain a profound contempt. He never tasted 
strong liquors in any form, and was extremely sparing in his 
eating ; often fasting for days in succession, particularly 
when he had any movement of importance in contemplation. 

It is difficult to fathom the dark recesses of a mind 
so powerful and active as his, placed under a pressure of 
ignorance and social disability so tremendous. In those 
desolate regions which he made his habitation, it is said 
that trees often, from the singularly unnatural and wildly 
stimulating properties of the slimy depths from which they 
spring, assume a goblin growth, entirely different from their 
normal habit. All sorts of vegetable monsters stretch theii 
weird, fantastic forms among its shadows. There is no 
principle so awful through all nature as the principle of 
growth. It is a mysterious and dread condition of existence, 
which, place it under what impediment or disadvantage you 
will, is constantly forcing on ; and when unnatural pressure 
hinders it, develops in forms portentous and astonishing. 
The wild, dreary belt of swamp-land which girds in those 
states scathed by the fires of despotism is an apt emblem, 


ENGEDI. 


275 


in its rampant and we might say delirious exuberance of 
vegetation, of that darkly struggling, wildly vegetating 
swamp of human souls, cut off, like it, from the usages and 
improvements of cultivated life. 

Beneath that fearful pressure, souls whose energy, well- 
directed, might have blessed mankind, start out in preter- 
natural and fearful developments, whose strength is only a 
portent of dread. 

The night after the meeting which we have described 
was one, to this singular being, of agonizing conflict. His 
psychological condition, as near as we can define it, seemed to 
be that of a human being who had been seized and possessed, 
after the manner related in ancient fables, by the wrath of 
an avenging God. That part of the moral constitution, which 
exists in some degree in us all, which leads us to feel pain 
at the sight of injustice, and to desire retribution for cruelty 
and crime, seemed in him to have become an absorbing sen- 
timent, as if he had been chosen by some higher power as 
the instrument of doom. At some moments the idea of the 
crimes and oppressions which had overwhelmed his race 
rolled in upon him with a burning pain, which caused him 
to cry out, like the fated and enslaved Cassandra, at the 
threshold of the dark house of tyranny and blood. 

This sentiment of justice, this agony in view of cruelty and 
crime, is in men a strong attribute of the highest natures ; 
for he who is destitute of the element of moral indignation 
is effeminate and tame. But there is in nature and in the 
human heart a pleading, interceding element, which comes 
in constantly to temper and soften this spirit and this ele- 
ment in the divine mind, which the Scriptures represent by 
the sublime image of an eternally interceding high priest, 
who, having experienced every temptation of humanity, 
constantly urges all that can be thought in mitigation of 
justice. As a spotless and high-toned mother bears in her 
bosom the anguish of the impurity and vileness of her child, 
so the eternally suffering, eternally interceding love of 
Christ bears the sins of our race. But the Scriptures tell us 
ii 24 


276 


ENGEDI. 


that the mysterious person, who thus stands before all worlds 
as the image and impersonation of divine tenderness, has 
yet in reserve this awful energy of wrath. The oppressors, 
in the last dread day, are represented as calling to the 
mountains and rocks to fall on them, and hide them from the 
wrath of the Lamb. This idea had dimly loomed up before 
the mind of Dred, as he read and pondered the mysteries 
of the sacred oracles ; and was expressed by him in the form 
of language so frequent in his mouth, that “ the Lamb was 
bearing the yoke of the sins of men.” He had been deeply 
affected by the presentation which Milly had made in their 
night meeting of the eternal principle of intercession and 
atonement. The sense of it was blindly struggling with the 
habitual and overmastering sense of oppression and wrong. 

When his associates had all dispersed to their dwellings, 
he threw himself on his face, and prayed, “ 0, Lamb of God, 
that bearest the yoke, why hast thou filled me with wrath ? 
Behold these graves ! Behold the graves of my brothers, 
slain without mercy, and, Lord, they do not repent ! Thou 
art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on 
iniquity. Wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treach- 
erously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth 
the man that is more righteous than he ? They make men as 
fishes in the sea, as creeping things that have no ruler over 
them. They take them up with the angle. They catch them 
in their net, and gather them in their drag. Therefore they 
rejoice and are glad. Therefore they sacrifice unto their 
net, and burn incense unto their drag, because by them 
their portion is fat, and their meat plenteous. Shall they, 
therefore, empty their net, and not spare continually to 
slay the nations ? Did not he that made them in the womb 
make us ? Did not the same God fashion us in the womb ? 
Doubtless thou art our Father, though Abraham be ignorant 
of us, and Israel acknowledged us not. Thou, 0 God, art 
our Father, our Redeemer. Wherefore forgettest thou us for- 
ever, and forsakest us so long a time ? Wilt thou not judge 
between us and our enemies ? Behold, there is none among 


ENGEDI. 


277 


them that stirreth himself up to call upon thee, and he that 
departeth from evil maketh himself a prey. They lie in 
wait, they set traps, they catch men, they are waxen fat, 
they shine, they overpass the deeds of the wicked, they 
judge not the cause of the fatherless ; yet they prosper, and 
the right of the needy do they not judge. Wilt thou not 
visit for these things, 0 Lord ? Shall not thy soul be 
avenged on such a nation as this ? How long wilt thou 
endure ? Behold under the altar the souls of those they 
have slain ! They cry unto thee continually. How long, 
0 Lord, dost thou not judge and avenge ? Is there any that 
stirreth himself up for justice ? Is there any that regardeth 
our blood ? We are sold for silver ; the price of our blood 
is in thy treasury ; the price of our blood is on thine altars ! 
Behold, they build their churches with the price of our hire I 
Behold, the stone doth cry out of the wall, and the timber 
doth answer it. Because they build their towns with blood, 
and establish their cities by iniquity. They have all gone 
one way. There is none that careth for the spoilings of the 
poor. Art thou a just God ? When wilt thou arise to 
shake terribly the earth, that the desire of all nations may 
come ? Overturn, overturn, and overturn, till he whose 
right it is shall come ! ” 

Such were the words, not uttered continuously, but 
poured forth at intervals, with sobbings, groanings, and 
moanings, fropa the recesses of that wild fortress. It was 
but a part of^that incessant prayer with which oppressed 
humanity has besieged the throne of justice in all ages. 
We who live in ceiled houses would do well to give heed 
to that sound, lest it be to us that inarticulate moaning 
which goes before the earthquake. If we would estimate 
the force of almighty justice, let us ask ourselves what a 
mother might feel for the abuse of her helpless child, and 
multiply that by infinity. 

But the night wore on, and the stars looked down serene 
and solemn, as if no prayer had gone through the calm, eter- 
nal gloom ; and the morning broke in the east resplendent. 


278 


ENGEDI. 


Harry, too, had passed a sleepless night. The death of 
Hark weighed like a mountain upon his heart. He had 
known him for a whole-souled, true-hearted fellow. He had 
been his counsellor and friend for many years, and he had 
died in silent torture for him. How stinging is it at such a 
moment to view the whole respectability of civilized society 
upholding and glorifying the murderer ; calling his sin by 
soft names, and using for his defence every artifice of legal 
injustice ! Some in our own nation have had bitter occasion 
to know this, for we have begun to drink the cup of 
trembling which for so many ages has been drank alone by 
the slave. Let the associates of Brown ask themselves if 
they cannot understand the midnight anguish of Harry ! 

His own impulses would have urged to an immediate 
insurrection, in which he was careless about his own life, 
so the fearful craving of his soul for justice was assuaged. 
To him the morning seemed to break red with the blood of 
his friend. He would have urged to immediate and pre- 
cipitate action. But Dred, true to the enthusiastic impulses 
which guided him, persisted in waiting for that sign from 
heaven which was to indicate when the day of grace was 
closed, and the day of judgment to begin. This expectation 
he founded on his own version of certain passages in the 
prophets, such as these : 

“ I will show wonders in heaven above, and signs in the 
earth beneath ; blood, and fire, and vapor of smoke ! The 
sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, 
before that great and notable day of the Lord shall come ! ” 

Meanwhile, his associates were to be preparing the minds 
of the people, and he was traversing the swamps in different 
directions, holding nightly meetings, in which he read and 
expounded the prophecies to excited ears. The laborious 
arguments, by which Northern and Southern doctors of 
divinity have deduced from the Old Testament the divine 
institution of slavery, were too subtle and fine-spun to reach 
his ear amid the denunciations of prophecies, all turning on 
the sin of oppression. His instinctive understanding of the 


ENGEDI. 


279 


spirit of the Bible justified the sagacity which makes the 
supporter of slavery, to this day, careful not to allow the 
slave the power of judging it for himself ; and we leave it 
to any modern pro-slavery divine whether, in Dred’s cir- 
cumstances, his own judgment might not have been the 
same. 

After daylight. Harry saw Dred standing, with a dejected 
countenance, outside of his hut. 

“ I have wrestled,” he said, “ for thee ; but the time is 
not yet ! Let us abide certain days, for the thing is secret 
unto me ; and I cannot do less nor more till the Lord giveth 
commandment. When the Lord delivereth them into our 
hands, one shall chase a thousand, and two put ten thou- 
sand to flight 1 ” 

“ After all,” said Harry, “ our case is utterly hopeless ! 
A few poor, outcast wretches, without a place to lay our 
heads, and they all revelling in their splendor and their 
power ! Who is there in this great nation that is not 
pledged against us ? Who would not cry Amen, if we 
were dragged out and hung like dogs ? The North is as. 
bad as the South ! They kill us, and the North consents 
and justifies ! And all their wealth, power, and religion, 
are used against us. We are the ones that all sides are 
willing to give up. Any party in church or of state will 
throw in our blood and bones as a make-weight, and think 
nothing of it. And, when I see them riding out in their 
splendid equipages, their houses full of everything that is 
elegant, they so cultivated and refined, and our people so 
miserable, poor, and down-trodden, I have n’t any faith 
that there is a God ! ” 

** Stop ! ” said I>red, laying his hand on his arm. “ Hear 
what the prophet saith. ‘ Their land, also, is full of silver 
and gold ; neither is there any end of their treasures. Their 
land, also, is full of horses ; neither is there any end of their 
chariots. Their land also is full of idols. They worship 
the work of their own hands. Enter into the rock, and 
hide thee in the dust, for fear of the Lord, and for the glory 
ii 24* 


280 


ENGEDI. 


of His majesty. The lofty looks of man shall be humbled, 
and the haughtiness of man shall be bowed down, and the 
Lord alone shall be exalted in that day. For the day of 
the Lord of Hosts shall be on every one that is proud and 
lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up ; and he shall be 
brought low ! And upon all the cedars of Lebanon that are 
high and lifted up, and upon all the oaks of Bashan, and 
upon all the high mountains, and upon all the hills that are 
lifted up, and upon every high tower, and upon every 
fenced wall, and upon all the ships of Tarshish, and upon 
all pleasant pictures ! And the loftiness of man shall be 
bowed down, the haughtiness of man shall be made low ! 
And they shall go in the holes of the rocks, and in the caves 
of the earth, for fear of the Lord, and for his majesty, 
when he ariseth to shake terribly the earth ! 1 ” 

The tall pines, and whispering oaks, as they stood waving 
in purple freshness at the dawn, seemed like broad-winged 
attesting angels, bearing witness, in their serene and solemn 
majesty, to the sublime words, “ Heaven and earth shall 
not pass away till these words have been fulfilled 1 ” 

After a few moments a troubled expression came over 
the face of Dred. 

“Harry,” he said, “verily, he is a God that hideth 
himself! He giveth none account to any of these matters. 
It may be that I shall not lead the tribes over this Jordan ; 
but that I shall lay my bones in the wilderness ! But the 
day shall surely come, and the sign of the Son of Man shall 
appear in the air> and all tribes of the earth shall wail, 
because of him ! Behold, I saw white spirits and black 
spirits, that contended in the air; and the thunder rolled, 
and the blood flowed, and the voice said, ‘ Come rough, 
come smooth ! Such is the decree. Ye must surely bear 
it ! 7 But, as yet, the prayers of the saints have power ; 
for there be angels, having golden censers, which be the 
prayers of saints. And the Lord, by reason thereof, de- 
layeth. Behold I have borne the burden of the Lord even 
for many years. He hath covered me with a cloud in the 


ENGEDI. 


281 


day of his anger, and filled me with his wrath ; and his 
word has been like a consuming fire shut in my bones ! 
He hath held mine eyes waking, and my bones have waxed 
old with my roarings all the day long ! Then I have said, 
* 0, that thou wouldst hide me in the dust ! That thou 
wouldst keep me secret till thy wrath be past ! ’ ” 

At this moment, soaring upward through the blue sky, 
rose the fair form of a wood-pigeon, wheeling and curving 
in the morning sunlight, cutting the ether with airy flight, 
so smooth, even, and clear, as if it had learnt motion from 
the music of angels. 

Dred’s eye, faded and haggard with his long night- 
watchings, followed it for a moment with an air of softened 
pleasure, in which was blent somewhat of weariness and 
longing. 

“ 0, that I had wings like a dove ! ” he said. “ Then 
would I flee away and be at rest ! I would hasten from the 
windy storm and tempest ! Lo, then I would wander far 
off, and remain in the wilderness ! ” 

There was something peculiar in the power and energy 
which this man’s nature had of drawing others into the 
tide of its own sympathies, as a strong ship, walking 
through the water, draws all the smaller craft into its 
current. 

Harry, melancholy and disheartened as he was, felt him- 
self borne out with him in that impassioned prayer. 

“ I know,” said Dred, “that the new heavens and the 
new earth shall come, and the redeemed of the Lord shall 
walk in it. But, as for me, I am a man of unclean lips, and 
the Lord hath laid on me the oppressions of the people I 
But, though the violent man prevail against me, it shall 
surely come to pass' I ” 

Harry turned away, and walked slowly to the other side 
of the clearing, where Old Tiff, with Fanny, Teddy, and 
Lisette, having kindled a fire on the ground, was busy in 
preparing their breakfast. Dred, instead of going into his 
>M)use, disappeared in the thicket. Milly had gone home 


282 


ENGEDI. 


with the man who came from Canema. The next day, as 
Harry and Dred made a hunting excursion through the 
swamp, returning home in the edge of the evening, they 
happened to be passing near the scene of lawless violence 
which we have already described. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


THE SLAVE HUNT. 

Tom Gordon, for the next two or three days after his 
injury, was about as comfortable to manage as a wounded 
hyena. He had a thousand varying caprices every hour 
and moment ; and now one and now another prevailed. 
The miserable girls who were held by him as his particular 
attendants were tormented by every species of annoy- 
ance which a restless and passionate man, in his impatience 
could devise. 

The recent death of Milly’s mistress by the cholera had 
reduced her under Tom’s authority ; and she was sum- 
moned now from her work every hour to give directions 
and advice, which, the minute they were given, were repu- 
diated with curses. 

“ I declare,” said Aunt Katy, the housekeeper, “ if Mas’r 
Tom is n’t ’nough to use a body off o’ der feet. It ’s jist 
four times I ’s got gruel ready for him dis last two hours 
— doing all I could to suit him ; and he swars at it, and 
flings it round real undecent. Why, he ’s got fever, and 
does he spect to make things taste good to him, when 
he ’s got fever ! Why, course I can’t, and no need of him 
calling me a devil, and all that 1 That ar ’s very unnecessary, 
I think. I don’t believe in no such ! The Gordons allers 
used to have some sense to ’em, even if they was cross ; but 
he an’t got a grain. I should think he was ’sessed wid Old 
Sam, for my part. Bringing ’sgrace on us all, the way he 
cuts up ! We really don’ know how to hold up our head, 
none of us. The Gordons have allers been sich a genteel 


9M 


THE SLAVE HUNT. 


family 1 Laws, we did n’t know what privileges we had 
when we had Miss Nina ! Them new girls, dressed up in all 
their flounces and ferbuloes 1 Guess they has to take it 1 ” 

In time, however, even in spite of his chafing, and fret- 
fulness, and contempt of physicians’ prescriptions, Tom 
seemed to recover, by the same kind of fatality which makes 
ill-weeds thrive apace. Meanwhile he employed his leisure 
hours in laying plans of revenge, to be executed as soon 
as he should be able to take to his horse again. Among 
other things, he vowed deep vengeance on Abijah Skinflint, 
who, he said, he knew must have sold the powder and am- 
munition to the negroes in the swamp. This may have 
been true, or may not ; but, in cases of lynch-law, such 
questions are indifferent matter. A man is accused, con- 
demned, and judged, at the will of his more powerful 
neighbor. It was sufficient to Tom that he thought so ; and, 
being sick and cross, thought so just now with more par- 
ticular intensity. 

Jim Stokes, he knew, cherished an animosity of long 
standing towards Abijah, which he could make use of in 
enlisting him in the cause. One of the first uses, there- 
fore, which Tom made of his recovered liberty, after he was 
able to ride out, was to head a raid on Abijah’s shop. The 
shop was without ceremony dismantled and plundered ; 
and the mob, having helped themselves to his whiskey, 
next amused themselves by tarring and feathering him ; 
and, having insulted and abused him to their satisfaction, 
and exacted a promise from him to leave the state within 
three days, they returned home glorious in their own eyes. 
And the next week a brilliant account of the affair appeared 
in the Trumpet of Liberty , headed 

“ Summary Justice.” 

Nobody pitied Abijah, of course ; and, as he would 
probably have been quite willing to join in the same sort 
of treatment for any one else, we know not that we are 
particularly concerned for his doom. The respectable peo- 


THE SLAVE HUNT. 


285 


pie in the neighborhood first remarked that they did n’t 
approve of mobs in general, and then dilated, with visible 
satisfaction, on this in particular, after a fashion of that 
stupid class that are called respectable people, generally. 
The foolish mob gloried and exulted, not considering that 
any day the same weapons might be turned against them. 
The mob being now somewhat drilled and animated, Tom 
proposed, while their spirit was up, to get up a hunting 
in the swamp, which should more fully satisfy his own 
private vengeance. There is a sleeping tiger in the human 
breast that delights in violence and blood ; and this tiger 
Tom resolved to unchain. 

The act of outlawry had already publicly set up Harry 
as a mark for whatever cruelty drunken ingenuity might 
choose to perpetrate. As our readers may have a curiosity 
in this kind of literature, we will indulge them with a copy 
of this : 

“ Slate of North Carolina, Cliowan County. 

11 Whereas, complaint upon oath hath this day been made 
to us, two of the Justices of the Peace for the said county 
and state aforesaid, by Thomas Gordon, that a certain male 
slave belonging to him, named Harry, a carpenter by trade, 
about thirty-five years old, five feet four inches high, or 
thereabouts ; dark complexion, stout built, blue eyes, deep 
sunk in his head, forehead very square, tolerably loud 
voice ; hath absented himself from his master's service, and 
is supposed to be lurking about in the swamp, committing 
acts of felony or other misdeeds. These are, therefore, in 
the name of the state aforesaid, to command said slave 
forthwith to surrender himself, and return home to his said 
master. And we do hereby, by virtue of the act of assem- 
bly, in such case made and provided, intimate and declare 
that, if the said slave Harry doth not surrender himself, 
and return home immediately after the publication of these 
presents, that any person or persons may kill and destroy 
the said slave by such mean3 as he or they may think fit, 
without accusation or impeachment of any crime or offence 


286 


THE SLAVE HUNT. 


for bo doing, and without incurring any penalty or forfeiture 
thereby. Given under our hands and seal, 

“ James T. Muller, j seal. ) 

“ T. BUTTERCOURT.”* ( SEAL, j 

One can scarcely contemplate without pity the condition 
of a population which grows up under the influence of such 
laws and customs as these. That the lowest brutality and 
the most fiendish cruelty should be remorselessly practised 
by those whose ferocity thus receives the sanction of the 
law, cannot be wondered at. Tom Gordon convened at his 
house an assemblage of those whom he used as the tools 
and ministers of his vengeance. Harry had been secretly 
hated by them all in his prosperous days, because, though 
a slave, he was better dressed, better educated, and, on the 
whole, treated with more consideration by the Gordon fam- 
ily and their guests, than they were ; and, at times, he had 
had occasion to rebuke some of them for receiving from the 
slaves goods taken from the plantation. To be sure, while 
he was prosperous they were outwardly subservient to him, 
as the great man of a great family ; but now he was down, 
as the amiable fashion of the world generally is, they re- 
solved to make up for their former subservience by redou- 
bled insolence. 

Jim Stokes, in particular, bore Harry a grudge, for having 
once expressed himself with indignation concerning the 
meanness and brutality of his calling ; and he was there- 
fore the more willing to be made use of on the present occa- 
sion. Accordingly, on the morning we speak of, there was 
gathered before the door of the mansion at Canema a con- 
fused mffiange of men, of that general style of appearance 
which, in our times, we call “Border Ruffians,” — half drunken, 
profane, obscene as the harpies which descended on the 
feast of iEneas. Tom Gordon had only this advantage among 
them, that superior education and position had given him 

♦The original document from which this is taken can be seen in the appen- 
dix. It appeared in the Wilmington Tournal, December 18 , 1850 . 


THE SLAVE HUNT. 


287 


the power, when he chose, of assuming the appearance and 
using the language of a gentleman. But he had enough of 
grossness within, to enable him at will to become as one of 
them. Tom’s arm was still worn in a sling, but, as lack 
of energy never was one of his faults, he was about to take 
the saddle with his troop. At present they were drawn up 
before the door, laughing, swearing, and drinking whiskey, 
which flowed in abundance. The dogs — the better-mannered 
brutes of the two, by all odds — were struggling in their 
leashes with impatience and excitement. Tom Gordon 
stood forth on the veranda, after the fashion of great gen- 
erals of old, who harangued their troops on the eve of bat- 
tle. Any one who has read the speeches of the leaders who 
presided over the sacking of Lawrence will get an idea of 
some features in this style of eloquence, which our pen 
cannot represent. 

“ Now, boys,” said Tom, “ you are getting your names 
up. You ’ve done some good work already. You ’ve given 
that old, snivelling priest a taste of true orthodox doctrine, 
that will enlighten him for the future. You ’ve given that 
long-nosed Skinflint light enough to see the error of his 
ways.” 

A general laugh here arose, and voices repeated, 

“ Ah, ah, that we did ! Did n’t we, though ? ” 

“ I reckon you did ! ” said Tom Gordon. “ I reckon he 
didn’t need candles to see his sins by, that night! 
Did n’t we make a candle of his old dog-kennel ? Did n’t 
he have light to see his way out of the state by ? and did n’t 
we give him a suit to keep him warm on the road ? Ah, 
boys, that was a warm suit — no mistake ! It was a suit 
that will stick to him, too I He won’t trade that off for rum, 
in a hurry, I ’m thinking ! Will he, boys ? ” 

Bursts of crazy, half-drunken applause here interrupted 
the orator. 

“ Pity we had n’t put a match to it ! ” shouted one. 

11 Ah, well, boys, you did enough for that time I Wait 
till you catch these sneaking varmins in the swamp, you 
n 25 


288 


THE SLAVE HUNT. 


shall do what you like with them. Nobody shall hinder 
you, that ’s law and order. These foxes have troubled us 
long enough, stealing at our hen-roosts while we were 
asleep. We shall make it hot for them, if we catch them ; 
and we are going to catch them. There are no two ways 
about it. This old swamp is like Davy’s coon — it ’s got 
to come down I And it will come down, boys, when it sees 
us coming. No mistake about that ! Now, boys, mind, 
catch him alive, if you can ; but shoot him, if you can’t. 
Remember, I ’ll give a hundred and fifty dollars for his 
head ! ” 

A loud shout chorused this last announcement, and Tom 
descended in glory to take his place in his saddle. 

Once, we suppose, this history would not have been 
believed, had it been told ; but of late our own sons and 
brothers have been hounded and hunted by just such men, 
with such means. 

The fire which began in the dry tree has spread to the 
green ! 

Long live the great Christianizing Institution I / / 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


“all over.” 

Clayton, at the time of the violent assault which we have 
described, received an injury upon the head which rendered 
him insensible. 

When he came to himself, he was conscious at first only 
of a fanning of summer breezes. He opened his eyes, and 
looked listlessly up into the blue sky, that appeared through 
the thousand leafy hollows of waving boughs. Voices of birds 
warbling and calling, like answering echoes, to each other, 
fell dreamily on his ear. Some gentle hand was placing 
bandages about his head ; and figures of women, he did not 
recognize, moved whisperingly around him, tending and 
watching. 

He dropped asleep again, and thus for many hours lay in 
a kind of heavy trance. 

Harry and Lisette had vacated, for his use, their hut; but, 
as it was now the splendid weather of October, when earth 
and sky become a temple of beauty and serenity, they 
tended him during the hours of the day in the open air, 
and it would seem as if there were no art jf healing like to 
this. As air and heat and water all have a benevolent tend- 
ency to enter and fill up a vacuum, so we might fancy the 
failing vitality of the human system to receive accessions 
of vigor by being placed in the vicinity of the healthful 
growths of nature. All the trees which John saw around 
the river of life and heaven bore healing leaves ; and there 
may be a sense in which the trees of our world bear leaves 
that are healing both to body and soul. He who hath gono 


290 


“all over.” 

out of the city, sick, disgusted, and wearied, and lain him- 
self down in the forest, under the fatherly shadow of an 
oak, may have heard this whispered to him in the leafy rus- 
tlings of a thousand tongues. 

******* 

“ See,” said Dred to Harry, as they were watching over 
the yet insensible form of Clayton, “ how the word of the 
Lord is fulfilled on this people. He shall deliver them, 
every man, into the hand of his neighbor ; and he that 
departeth from evil maketh himself a prey ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Harry ; “ but this is a good man ; he stands 
up for our rights. If he had his way, we should soon have 
justice done us.” 

“Yes,” said Dred, “but it is even as it was of old; 
* behold I send unto you prophets and wise men, and some 
of them shall ye slay. For this people’s heart is waxed 
gross, and their ears have they closed. Therefore, the Lord 
shall bring upon this generation the blood of all the slain, 
from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zacharias, 
the son of Barachias, whom they slew between the temple 
and the altar.’ ” 

* * * * * * * 
After a day or two spent in a kind of listless dreaming, 
Clayton was so far recovered as to be able to sit up and 
look about him. The serene tranquillity of the lovely Octo 
ber skies seemed to fall like a spell upon his soul. 

Amidst the wild and desolate swamp, here was an island 
of security, where nature took men to her sheltering bosom. 
A thousand birds, speaking with thousand airy voices, were 
calling from bret zy tree-tops, and from swinging cradles of 
vine-leaves ; white clouds sailed, in changing and varying 
islands, over the heavy green battlements of the woods. 
The wavering slumberous sound of thousand leaves, through 
which the autumn air walked to and fro, consoled him 
Life began to look to him like a troubled dream, forever 
past. His own sufferings, the hours of agony and death 
which he had never dared to remember, seemed now to 


291 


“all over.” 

wear a new and glorified form. Such is the divine power 
in which God still reveals himself through the lovely and 
incorruptible forms of nature. 

Clayton became interested in Dred, as a psychological 
study. At first he was silent and reserved, but attended 
to the wants of his guest with evident respect and kindness. 
Gradually, however, the love of expression, which lies hid- 
den in almost every soul, began to unfold itself in him, and 
he seemed to find pleasure in a sympathetic listener. Ilis 
wild jargon of hebraistic phrases, names, and allusions, had 
for Clayton, in his enfeebled state, a quaint and poetic in- 
terest. lie compared him, in his own mind, to one of those 
old rude Gothic doorways, so frequent in European cathe- 
drals, where scriptural images, carved in rough granite, 
mingle themselves with a thousand wayward, fantastic 
freaks of architecture ; and sometimes he thought, with a 
sigh, how much might have been accomplished by a soul so 
ardent and a frame so energetic, had they been enlightened 
and guided. 

Dred would sometimes come, in the shady part of the 
afternoon, and lie on the grass beside him, and talk for hours 
in a quaint, rambling, dreamy style, through which there 
were occasional flashes of practical ability and shrewdness. 

He had been a great traveller — a traveller through re- 
gions generally held inaccessible to human foot and eye. 
He had explored not only the vast swamp-girdle of the 
Atlantic, but the everglades of Florida, with all their strange 
and tropical luxuriance of growth ; he had wandered along 
the dreary and perilous belt of sand which skirts the 
southern Atlantic shores, full of quicksands and of dangers, 
and there he had mused of the eternal secret of the tides, 
with whose restless, never-ceasing rise and fall the soul 
of man has a mysterious sympathy. Destitute of the light 
of philosophy and science, he had revolved in the twilight of 
his ardent and struggling thoughts the causes of natural 
phenomena, and settled these questions for himself by theo- 
ries of his own. Sometimes his residence for weeks had 
25 * 


n 


292 


“all over.” 

been a stranded hulk, cast on one of these inhospitable 
shores, where he fasted and prayed, and fancied that 
answering voices came to him in the moaning of the wind 
and the sullen swell of the sea. 

Our readers behold him now, stretched on the grass be- 
side the hut of Harry and Lisette, in one of his calmest and 
most communicative moods. 

The children, with Lisette and the women, were search- 
ing for grapes in a distant part of the enclosure ; and Harry, 
with the other fugitive man, had gone to bring in certain 
provisions which were to have been deposited for them in a 
distant part of the swamp by some of their confederates on 
one of the plantations. Old Tiff was hoeing potatoes dili- 
gently in a spot not very far distant, and evidently listening 
to the conversation with an ear of shrewd attention. 

“ Yes,” said Dred, with that misty light in his eye which 
one may often have remarked in the eye of enthusiasts, 
“ the glory holds off, but it is coming ! Now is the groan- 
ing time ! That was revealed to me when I was down at 
Okerecoke, when I slept three weeks in the hulk of a ship 
out of which all souls had perished.” 

“ Rather a dismal abode, my friend,” said Clayton, by 
way of drawing him on to conversation. 

“ The Spirit drove me there,” said Dred, “for I had be- 
sought the Lord to show unto me the knowledge of things 
to come ; and the Lord bade me to go from the habitations 
of men, and to seek out the desolate places of the sea, and 
dwell in the wreck of a ship that was forsaken for a sign of 
desolation unto this people. So I went and dwelt there, 
and the Lord called me Amraphal, because hidden things of 
judgment were made known unto me. And the Lord 
showed unto me that even as a ship which is forsaken of 
the waters, wherein all flesh have died, so shall it be with 
the nation of the oppressor.” 

“ now did the Lord show you this ? ” said Clayton, bent 
upon pursuing his inquiry. 

“ Mine ear received it in the night season,” said Dred, 


293 


“all over.” 

“ and I heard how the whole creation groaneth and travail- 
eth, waiting for the adoption ; and because of this he hath 
appointed the tide.” 

“ I don’t see the connection,” said Clayton. “ Why be- 
cause of this ? ” 

“Because,” said Dred, “every day is full of labor, but 
the labor goeth back again into the seas. So that travail 
of all generations hath gone back, till the desire of all na- 
tions shall come, and He shall come with burning and with 
judgment, and with great shakings ; but in the end thereof 
shall be peace. Wherefore, it is written that in the new 
heavens and the new earth there shall be no more sea.” 

These words were uttered with an air of solemn, assured 
confidence, that impressed Clayton strangely. Something 
in his inner nature seemed to recognize in them a shadow 
of things hoped for. He was in that mood into which the 
mind of him who strives with the evils of this world must 
often fall — a mood of weariness and longing ; and heard 
within him the cry of the human soul, tempest-tossed and 
not comforted, for rest and assurance of the state where 
there shall be no more sea. 

“ So, then,” he said unto Dred, “ so, then, you believe 
that these heavens and earth shall be made new.” 

“ Assuredly,” said Dred. “ And the King shall reign in 
righteousness. He shall deliver the needy when he crieth, 
— the poor and him that hath no helper. He shall redeem 
their souls from deceit and violence. He shall sit upon a 
white cloud, and the rainbow shall be round about his head. 
And the elect of the Lord shall be kings and priests on the 
earth.” 

“ And do you think you shall be one of them ? ” said 
Clayton. 

Dred gave a kind of inward groan. 

“Not every one that prophesieth in his name shall be 
found worthy ! ” he said. “ I have prayed the Lord, but he 
hath not granted me the assurance. I am the rod of his 


294 


“all over.” 

wrath, to execute vengeance on his enemies. Shall the axe 
magnify itself against him that lifteth it ? ” 

The conversation was here interrupted by Harry, who, 
suddenly springing from the tree, came up, in a hurried and 
agitated manner. 

“ The devil is broke loose ! ” he said. “ Tom Gordon is 
out, with his whole crew at his heels, beating the swamp ! 
A more drunken, swearing, ferocious set I never saw ! 
They have got on to the trail of poor Jim, and are tracking 
him without mercy ! ” 

A dark light flashed from Dred’s eye, as he sprang upon 
his feet. 

“ The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness ; yea, the 
wilderness of Kadesh. I will go forth and deliver him ! ” 

He seized his rifle and shot-bag, and in a few moments 
was gone. It was Harry’s instinct to have followed him : 
but Lisette threw herself, weeping, on his neck. 

“ Don’t go — don’t! ” she said. “What shall we all do 
without you ? Stay with us ! You ’ll certainly be killed, 
and you can do no good ! ” 

“ Consider,” said Clayton, “ that you have not the famil- 
iarity with these swamps, nor the wonderful physical power 
of this man. It would only be throwing away your life.” 

The hours of that day passed gloomily. Sometimes the 
brutal sound of the hunt seemed to sweep near them, — the 
crack of rifles, the baying of dogs, the sound of oaths, — 
and then again all went off into silence, and nothing was 
heard but the innocent patter of leaf upon leaf, and the 
warbling of the birds, singing cheerily, ignorant of the 
abyss of cruelty and crime over which they sang. 

Towards sunset a rustling was heard in the branches of 
the oak, and Dred dropped down into the enclosure, wet, 
and soiled, and wearied. All gathered round him, in a mo- 
ment. 

“ Where is Jim ? ” asked Harry. 

“ Slain ! ” said Dred. “ The archers pressed him sore, 
and he hath fallen in the wilderness ! ” 


295 


u ALL OYER.” 

There was a general exclamation of horror. Dred made 
a movement to sit down on the earth. He lost his balance, 
and fell ; and they all saw now, what at first they had not 
noticed, a wound in his breast, from which the blood was 
welling. His wife fell by his side, with wild moans of sor- 
row. He lifted his hand, and motioned her from him. 

“ Peace,” he said, “ peace 1 It is enough! Behold, I 
go unto the witnesses who cry day and night ! ” 

The circle stood around him in mute horror and surprise. 
Clayton was the first who had presence of mind to kneel 
and stanch the blood. Dred looked at him ; his calm, 
large eyes filled with supernatural light. 

“ All over ! ” he said. 

He put his hand calmly to his side, and felt the gushing 
blood. He took some in his hand and threw it upward, 
crying out, with wild energy, in the words of an ancient 
prophet, 

“ 0, earth, earth, earth ! Cover thou not my blood ! ” 

Behind the dark barrier of the woods the sun was setting 
gloriously. Piles of loose, floating clouds, which all day 
long had been moving through the sky in white and silvery 
stillness, now one after another took up the rosy flush, and 
became each one a light-bearer, filled with ethereal radiance. 
And the birds sang on as they ever sing, unterrified by the 
great wail of human sorrow. 

It was evident to the little circle that He who is mightier 
than the kings of the earth was there, and that that splen- 
did frame, which had so long rejoiced in the exuberance of 
health and strength, was now to be resolved again into the 
eternal elements. 

“Harry,” he said, “lay me beneath the heap of witness. 
Let the God of their fathers judge between us ! ” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


THE BURIAL. 

The death of Dred fell like a night of despair on the hearts 
of the little fugitive circle in the swamps — on the hearts of 
multitudes in the surrounding plantations, who had regarded 
him as a prophet and a deliverer. He in whom they trusted 
was dead ! The splendid, athletic form, so full of wild 
vitality, the powerful arm, the trained and keen-seeing eye, 
all struck down at once ! The grand and solemn voice 
hushed, and all the splendid poetry of olden time, the in- 
spiring symbols and prophetic dreams, which had so wrought 
upon his own soul, and with which he had wrought upon 
the souls of others, seemed to pass away with him, and to 
recede into the distance and become unsubstantial, like the 
remembered sounds of mighty winds, or solemn visions of 
evening clouds, in times long departed. 

On that night, when the woods had ceased to reverberate 
the brutal sounds of baying dogs, and the more brutal pro- 
fanity of drunken men ; when the leaves stood still on the 
trees, and the forest lay piled up in the darkness like black 
clouds, and the morning star was standing like a calm 
angelic presence above them, there might have been heard 
in the little clearing a muffled sound of footsteps, treading 
heavily, and voices of those that wept with a repressed and 
quiet weeping, as they bore the wild chieftain to his grave 
beneath the blasted tree. Of the undaunted circle who had 
met there at the same hour many evenings before, some had 
dared to be present to-night ; for, hearing the report of the 
hunt, they had left their huts on the plantations by stealth, 


THE BURIAL. 


297 


when all were asleep, and, eluding the vigilance of the 
patrols, the night watch which commonly guards planta- 
tions, had come to the forest to learn the fate of their 
friends ; and bitter was the dismay and anguish which filled 
their souls when they learned the result. It is melancholy 
to reflect, that among the children of one Father an event 
which excites in one class bitterness and lamentation should 
in another be cause of exultation and triumph. But the 
world has been thousands of years and not yet learned the 
first two words of the Lord’s prayer ; and not until all tribes 
and nations have learned these will his kingdom come, and 
his will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven. 

Among those who stood around the grave, none seemed 
more bowed down and despairing than one whom we have 
before introduced to the reader, under the name of Hanni- 
bal. He was a tall and splendidly formed negro, whose 
large head, high forehead, and marked features, indicated 
resolution and intellectual ability. He had been all his life 
held as the property of an uneducated man, of very mean 
and parsimonious character, who was singularly divided in 
his treatment of him, by a desire to make the most of his 
energies and capabilities as a slave, and a fear lest they 
should develop so fast as to render him unfit for the condi- 
tion of slavery. 

Hannibal had taught himself to read and write, but the 
secret of the acquisition was guarded in his own bosom, as 
vigilantly as the traveller among thieves would conceal in 
his breast an inestimable diamond ; for he well knew that, 
were these acquisitions discovered, his master’s fears would 
be so excited as to lead him to realize at once a present sum 
upon him, by selling him to the more hopeless prison-house 
of the far South, thus separating him from his wife and 
family. 

Hannibal was generally employed as the keeper of a ferry- 
boat by his master, and during the hours when he was 
waiting for passengers found many opportunities for grati 
fying, in an imperfect manner, his thirst for knowledge. 


298 


THE BURIAL. 


Those who have always had books about them more than 
they could or would read know nothing of the passionate 
eagerness with which a repressed and starved intellect 
devours in secret its stolen food. 

In a little chink between the logs of his ferry-house there 
was secreted a Bible, a copy of Robinson Crusoe, and an 
odd number of a Northern newspaper which had been 
dropped from the pocket of a passenger ; and when the door 
was shut and barred at night, and his bit of pine knot 
lighted, he would take these out and read them hour by 
hour. There he yearned after the wild freedom of the deso- 
late island. He placed his wife and children, in imagination, 
in the little barricaded abode of Robinson. He hunted and 
made coats of skin, and gathered strange fruits from trees 
with unknown names, and felt himself a free man. 

Over a soul so strong and so repressed it is not to be 
wondered at that Dred should have acquired a peculiar 
power. The study of the Bible had awakened in his mind 
that vague tumult of aspirations and hopes which it ever 
excites in the human breast ; and he was prompt to believe 
that the Lord who visited Israel in Egypt had listened to 
the sighings of their captivity, and sent a prophet and a 
deliverer to his people. 

Like a torch carried in a stormy night, this hope had 
blazed up within him ; but the cold blast of death had 
whistled by, and it was extinguished forever. 

Among the small band that stood around the dead, on 
the edge of the grave, he stood, looking fixedly on the 
face of the departed. In the quaint and shaggy mound 
to which Dred had attached that strange, rugged, oriental 
appellation, Jegar Sahadutha, or the “ heap of witness,” there 
was wildly flaring a huge pine-knot torch, whose light fell 
with a red, distinct glare on the prostrate form that lay 
there like a kingly cedar uprooted, no more to wave its 
branches in air, yet mighty in its fall, with all the shaggy 
majesty of its branches around. Whatever might have been 
the strife and struggle of the soul once imprisoned in that 


THE BURIAL. 


299 


form, there was stamped upon- the sombre face an expression 
of majestic and mournful tranquillity, as if that long-suffering 
and gracious God, to whose judgment he had made his last 
appeal, had rendered that judgment in mercy. When the 
statesmen and mighty men of our race die, though they had 
the weaknesses and sins of humanity, they want not orators 
in the church to draw the veil gently, to speak softly of 
their errors and loudly of their good, and to predict for 
them, if not an abundant entrance, yet at least a safe asy- 
lum among the blessed ; and something not to be rebuked 
in our common nature inclines to join in a hopeful amen. 
It is not easy for us to believe that a great and powerful 
soul can be lost to God and itself forever. 

But he who lies here so still and mournfully in this flick- 
ering torch-light had struggling within him the energies 
which make the patriot and the prophet. Crushed beneath 
a mountain of ignorance, they rose blind and distorted ; yet 
had knowledge enlightened and success crowned them, his 
name might have been, with that of Toussaint, celebrated 
in mournful sonnet by the deepest thinking poet of the age. 

“ Thou hast left behind 

Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies; 

There ’s not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; 

Thy friends are exaltations, agonies, 

And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.” 

The weight of so great an affliction seemed to have re- 
pressed the usual vivacity with which the negro is wont to 
indulge the expression of grief. When the body was laid 
down by the side of the grave, there was for a time a silence 
so deep that the rustling of the leaves, and the wild, doleful 
clamor of the frogs and turtles in the swamps, and the surge 
of the winds in the pine-tree tops, were all that met the ear. 
Even the wife of the dead stood with her shawl wrapped 
tightly about her, rocking to and fro, as if in the extremity 
of grief. 

An old man in the company, who had officiated sometimes 

n. 26 


300 


THE BURIAL. 


as preacher among the negroes, began to sing a well-known 
hymn very commonly used at negro funerals, possibly be^ 
cause its wild and gloomy imagery has something exciting 
to their quick imaginations. The words rose on the night 
air : 

“Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound, 

My ears attend the cry; 

Ye living men, come view the ground 
Where you must shortly lie.” 


During the singing of this verse Hannibal stood silent, 
with his arms gloomily folded, his eyes fixed on the lifeless 
face. Gradually the sentiment seemed to inspire his soul 
with a kind of serene triumph ; he lifted his head, and joined 
his deep bass voice in the singing of the second verse : 

“ Princes, this clay must be your bed, 

In spite of all your towers; 

The tall, the wise, the reverend head, 

Must lie as low as ours.” 

“ Yes,” he said, “ brethren, that will be the way of it 
They triumph and lord it over us now, but their pomp will 
be brought down to the grave, and the noise of their viols. 
The worm shall be spread under them, and the worm shall 
cover them ; and when we come to stand together at the 
judgment seat, our testimony will be took there if it never 
was afore ; and the Lord will judge atween us and our op- 
pressors, — that ’b one comfort. Now, brethren, let ’a jest 
lay him in the grave, and he that ’s a better man, or would 
have done better in his place, let him judge him if he 
dares.” 

They lifted him up and laid him into the grave ; and in a 
few moments all the mortal signs by which that soul had 
been known on earth had vanished, to appear no more till 
tt 3 great day of judgment and decision. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


THE ESCAPE. 

Clayton had not been an unsympathizing or inattentive 
■witness of these scenes. 

It is true that he knew not the whole depth of the affair ; 
but Harry’s letter and his own observations had led him, 
without explanation, to feel that there was a perilous degree 
of excitement in some of the actors in the scene before him, 
which, unless some escape-valve were opened, might lead 
to most fatal results. 

The day after the funeral, he talked with Harry, wisely 
and kindly, assuming nothing to himself on the ground 
either of birth or position ; showing to him the undesirable- 
ness and hopelessness, under present circumstances, of 
any attempt to right by force the wrongs under which his 
class were suffering, and opening to him and his associates 
a prospect of a safer way by flight to the Free States. 

One can scarcely appreciate the moral resolution and 
force of character which could make a person in Clayton’s 
position in society — himself sustaining, in the eye of the 
law, the legal relation of a slaveholder — give advice of 
this kind. No crime is visited with more unsparing rigor 
by the regime of Southern society than the aiding or abet- 
ting the escape of a slave. He who does it is tried as a 
negro-stealer; and in some states death, in others a long 
and disgraceful imprisonment in the penitentiary, is the 
award. 

For granting the slightest assistance and succor, in cases 


302 


THE ESCAPE. 


like these,— for harboring the fugitive for even a night,— 
for giving him the meanest shelter and food, — persons have 
been stripped of their whole property, and turned out desti- 
tute upon the world. Others, for no other crime, have 
languished years in unhealthy dungeons, and coming out at 
last with broken health and wasted energies ; nor has the 
most saintly patience and purity of character in the victim 
been able to lessen or mitigate the penalty. 

It was therefore only by the discerning power of a mind 
sufficiently clear and strong to see its way through the 
mists of educational association, that Clayton could feel 
himself to be doing right in thus violating the laws and 
customs of the social state under which he was born. But, 
in addition to his belief in the inalienable right of every 
man to liberty, he had at this time a firm conviction that 
nothing but the removal of some of these minds from the 
oppressions which were goading them could prevent a 
development of bloody insurrection. 

It is probable that nothing has awakened more bitterly 
the animosity of the slaveholding community than the 
existence in the Northern States of an indefinite yet very 
energetic institution, known as the underground railroad ; and 
yet, would they but reflect wisely on the things that belong 
to their peace, they would know that this has removed many 
a danger from their dwellings. One has only to become 
well acquainted with some of those fearless and energetic 
men who have found their way to freedom by its means, to 
feel certain that such minds and hearts would have proved, 
in time, an incendiary magazine under the scorching reign 
of slavery. But, by means of this, men of that class who 
cannot be kept in slavery have found a road to liberty 
which endangered the shedding of ng> blood but their own ; 
and the record of the strange and perilous means by which 
these escapes have been accomplished sufficiently shows th 
resolute nature 'of the men by whom they were unde) 
taken. 

It was soon agreed that a large party of fugitives should 


THE ESCAPE. 


303 


in concert effect their escape. Harry, being so white as 
easily to escape detection out of the immediate vicinity where 
he was known, assumed the task of making arrangements, 
for which he was amply supplied with money by Clayton. 

It is well known that there are, daring the greater part 
of the year, lumberers engaged in the cutting and making 
of shingles, who have extensive camps in the swamp, and 
live there for months at a time. These camps are made by 
laying foundations of logs on the spongy soil, thus forming 
platforms on which rude cabins are erected. In the same 
manner roads are constructed into distant parts of the 
swamp, by means of which transportation is carried on. 
There is also a canal cut through the middle of the swamp, 
on which small sailing craft pass backwards and forwards 
with shingles and produce. 

In the employ of these lumberers are multitudes of slaves 
hired from surrounding proprietors. They live here in a 
situation of comparative freedom, being only obliged to 
make a certain number of staves or shingles within a stip- 
ulated time, and being furnished with very comfortable 
provision. Living thus somewhat in the condition of free- 
men, they are said to be more intelligent, energetic, and 
self-respecting, than the generality of slaves. The camp of 
the fugitives had not been without intercourse with the camp 
of lumberers, some five miles distant. In cases of straits they 
had received secret supplies from them, and one or two of 
the more daring and intelligent of the slave lumberers had 
attended some of Dred's midnight meetings. It was deter- 
mined, therefore, to negotiate with one of the slaves who 
commanded a lighter, or small vessel, in which lumber was 
conveyed to Norfolk, to assist their escape. 

On some consultation, however, it was found that the 
numbers wanting to escape were so large as not to be able, 
without exciting suspicion, to travel together, and it was 
therefore decided to make two detachments. Milly had 
determined to cast in her lot with the fugitives, out of regard 
to her grandchild, poor little Tomtit, whose utter and merry 
ii. 26* 


304 


THE ESCAPE. 


thoughtlessness formed a touching contrast to the giavity 
and earnestness of her affections and desires for him. He 
was to her the only remaining memorial of a large family, 
which had been torn from her by the ordinary reverses and 
chances of slavery ; and she clung to him, therefore, with 
the undivided energy of her great heart. As far as her own 
rights were concerned, she would have made a willing sur- 
render of them, remaining patiently in the condition 
wherein she was called, and bearing injustice and oppression 
as a means of spiritual improvement, and seeking to do 
what good lay in her power. 

Every individual has an undoubted right, if he chooses, 
thus to resign the rights and privileges of his earthly 
birthright ; but the question is a very different one when it 
involves the improvement and the imlnortal interests of 
those for whom the ties of blood oblige him to have care. 

Milly, who viewed everything with the eye of a Christian, 
was far less impressed by the rigor and severity of Tom 
Gordon’s administration than by the dreadful demoralization 
of character which he brought upon the plantation. 

Tomtit being a bright, handsome child, his master had 
taken a particular fancy to him. He would have him 
always about his person, and treated him with the same 
mixture of indulgence and caprice which one would bestow 
upon a spaniel. He took particular pleasure in teaching 
him to drink and to swear, apparently for nothing else than 
the idle amusement it afforded him to witness the exhibition 
of such accomplishments in so young a child. 

In vain Milly, who dared use more freedom with him 
than any other servant, expostulated. He laughed or 
swore at her, according to the state in which he happened 
to be. Milly, therefore, determined at once to join the 
flying party, and take her darling with her. Perhaps she 
would not have been able to accomplish this, had not 
what she considered a rather fortunate reverse, about this 
time, brought Tomtit into disgrace with his master. 
Owing to some piece of careless mischief which he had 


THE ESCAPE. 


305 


committed, he had been beaten with a severity us thought- 
less as the indulgence he at other times receive *'/ and, while 
bruised and trembling from this infliction, he w fully ready 
to fly anywhere. 

Quite unexpectedly to all parties, it was discovered that 
Tom Gordon’s confidential servant and valet, Jim, was one 
of the most forward to escape. This man, from that 
peculiar mixture of boldness, adroitness, cunning, and droll- 
ery, which often exists among negroes, had stood for years 
as prime and undisputed favorite with his master ; he had 
never wanted for money, or for anything that money could 
purchase ; and he had had an almost unreproved liberty of 
saying, in an odd fashion, what he pleased, with the 
licensed audacity of a court buffoon. 

One of the slaves expressed astonishment that he, in 
his favored position, should think of such a thing. Jim 
gave a knowing inclination of his head to one side, and 
said : 

“ Fac’ is, bredren, dis chile is jest tired of dese yer 
partnership concerns. I and mas’r, we has all tings in 
common, sure ’nough * but den I ’d rather have less of ’em, 
and have something dat ’s mine ; ’sides which, I never ’s 
going to have a wife till I can get one dat ’ll belong to 
myself; dat ar ’s a ting I’s ’ticular ’bout.” 

The conspirators were wont to hold their meetings 
nightly in the woods, near the swamp, for purposes of con 
cert and arrangement. 

Jim had been trusted so much to come and go at his own 
pleasure, that he felt little fear of detection, always having 
some plausible excuse on hand, if inquiries were made. 

It is to be confessed that he had been a very profane and 
irreverent fellow, often attending prayer-meetings, and other 
religious exercises of the negroes, for no other apparent 
purpose than to be able to give burlesque imitations of all 
the proceedings, for the amusement of his master and his 
master’s vile associates. Whenever, therefore, he was 


306 


THE ESCAPE. 


missed, he would, upon inquiry, assert, with a knowing 
wink, that “he had been out to de prayer-meetin’.” 

** Seems to me, Jim,” says Tom, one morning, when he felt 
peculiarly ill-natured, “ seems to me you are doing nothing 
but go to meeting, lately. I don’t like it, and I ’in not going 
to have it. Some deviltry or other you are up to, and I ’m 
going to put a stop to it. Now, mind yourself; don’t you 
go any more, or I ’ll give you ” 

We shall not mention particularly what Tom was in the 
habit of threatening to give. 

Here was a dilemma. One attendance more in the woods 
this very night was necessary, — was, indeed, indispens- 
able. Jim put all his powers of pleasing into requisition. 
Never had he made such desperate efforts to be entertain- 
ing. He sang, he danced, he mimicked sermons, carried on 
mock meetings, and seemed to whip all things sacred and 
profane together, in one great syllabub of uproarious mer- 
riment ; and this to an idle man, with a whole day upon his 
hands, and an urgent necessity for never having time to 
think, was no small affair. 

Tom mentally reflected in the evening, as he lay 
stretched out in the veranda, smoking his cigar, what 
in the world he should do without Jim, to keep him in 
spirits ; and Jim, under cover of the day’s glory, had 
ventured to request of his master the liberty of an hour, 
which he employed in going to his tryst in the woods. 
This was a bold step, considering how positively he had 
been forbidden to do it in the morning ; but Jim heartily 
prayed to his own wits, the only god he had been taught to 
worship, to help him out once more. He was returning 
home, hastening, in order to be in season for his master’s 
bed-time, hoping to escape unquestioned as to where he 
had. been. 

The appointments had all been made, and, between two 
and three o’clock that night, the whole party were to 
strike out upon their course, and ere morning to have 
travelled the first stage of their pilgrimage towards freedom. 


THE ESCAPE. 


r 3jl 

Already the sense of a new nature was beginning to 
dawn on Jim’s mind — a sense of something graver, 
steadier, and more manly, than the wild, frolicksome life he 
had been leading ; and his bosom throbbed with a strange, 
new, unknown hope. 

Suddenly, on the very boundary of the spot where the 
wood joins the plantation, who should he meet but Tom 
Gordon, sent there as if he had been warned by his evil 
stars. 

“ Now, Lord help me ! if dere is any Lord,” said Jim. 
“ Well, I ’s got to blaze it out now de best way I ken.” 

He walked directly up to his master, with his usual air 
of saucy assurance. 

“ Why, Jim,” said Tom, “ where have you been ? I ’ve 
been looking for you.” 

“ Why, bless you, mas’r, honey, I ’s been out to de 
meetin’.” 

“Didn’t I tell you, you dog,” said Tom, with an oath, 
“ that you were not to go to any more of those meetings ? ” 

“ Why, laws, mas’r, honey, chile, ’fore my heavenly 
mas’r, I done forgot every word you said!” said Jim. 
“ I ’s so kind o’ tumbled up and down this day, and things 
has been so cur’us ! ” 

The ludicrous grimace and tone, and attitude of affected 
contrition, with which all this was said, rather amused Tom ; 
and, though he still maintained an air of sternness, the subtle 
negro saw at once his advantage, and added, “ ’Clare if I 
isn’t most dead! Ole Pomp, he preached, and he gets me 
so full o’ grace I ’s fit to bust. Has to do something 
wicked, else I ’ll get translated one dese yer days, like 
’Lijah, and den who ’d mas’r have fur to wait on him ? ” 

“ I don’t believe you ’ve been to meeting,” said Tom, 
eying him with affected suspicion. “You ’ve been out on 
some spree.” 

“ Why, laws, mas’r, honey, you hurts my feelings ! 
Why, now, I ’s in hopes you ’d say you see de grace 
a shining out all over me. Why, I ’s been in a clar state 


308 


THE ESCAPE. 


of glorrufication all dis evening. Dat ar old Pomp, dar ’s 
no mistake, he does lift a body up powerful I ” 

“You don’t remember a word he said, now, I’ll bet,” 
said Tom. “ Where was thi text ? ” 

“ Text ! ” said Jim, with assurance ; “ ’t was in the twenty- 
fourth chapter of Jerusalem, sixteenth verse/’ 

“ Well,” said Tom, “ what was it ? I should like to 
know.” 

“ Laws, mas’r, I b’lieve I can ’peat it,” said Jim, with an 
indescribable air of waggish satisfaction. “ ’T was dis yer : 
* Ye shall sarch fur me in de mornin’ and ye won’t find me.’ 
Dat ar ’s a mighty solemn text, mas’r, and ye ought to be 
’fleeting on ’t.” 

And Tom had occasion to reflect upon it, the next morn- 
ing, when, having stormed, and swore, and pulled until he 
broke the bell-wire, no Jim appeared. It was some time 
before he could actually realize or believe he was gone. 

“The ungrateful dog! The impudent puppy, who had 
had all his life everything he wanted, to run away from 
him ! ” 

Tom aroused the whole country in pursuit ; and, as ser- 
vants were found missing in many other plantations, there 
was a general excitement through the community. The 
Trumpet of Liberty began to blow dolorous notes, and 
articles headed, “ The results of Abolitionist teaching, and 
covert incendiarism,” began to appear. It was recom- 
mended that a general search should be made through the 
country for all persons tinctured with abolitionist senti- 
ments, and immediate measures pursued to oblige them to 
leave the state forthwith. 

One or two respectable gentlemen, who were in the habit 
of taking the National Era, were visited by members of a 
vigilance committee, and informed that they must immedi- 
ately drop the paper or leave the state ; and when one of 
them talked of his rights as a free citizen, and inquired 
how they would enforce their requisitions, supposing he 
determined to stand for his liberty, the party informed 


THE ESCAPE. 


309 


him succinctly to the following purport : “If you do not 
comply, your corn, grain, and fodder, will be burned ; your 
cattle driven off; and, if you still persist, your house will 
be set on fire and consumed, and you will never know who 
does it.” 

When the good gentleman inquired if this was freedom, 
his instructors informed him that freedom consisted in their 
right and power to make their neighbors submit to their 
own will and dictation ; and he would find himself in a free 
country so far as this, that every one would feel at liberty 
to annoy and maltreat him so long as he opposed the popu- 
lar will. 

This modern doctrine of liberty has of late been strikingly 
and edifyingly enforced on the minds of some of our breth- 
ren and sisters in the new states, to whom the offer of relin- 
quishing their principles or their property and lives has 
been tendered with the same admirable explicitness. 

It is scarcely necessary to remark that both these worthy 
gentlemen, to use the language of their conquerors, “ caved 
in,” and thus escaped with no other disadvantage than a 
general plundering of their smoke-houses, the hams in which 
were thought a desirable addition to a triumphal entertain- 
ment proposed to be given in honor of law and order by 
The Associate Bands of the Glorious Immortal Coons, the 
body-guard which was Tom Gordon’s instrument in all these 
exploits. 

In fact, this association, although wanting the advantage 
of an ordaining prayer and a distribution of Bibles, as has 
been the case with some more recently sent from Southern 
states, to beat the missionary drum of state rights and the 
principles of law and order on our frontiers, yet conducted 
themselves in a manner which might have won them appro- 
bation even in Col. Buford’s regiment, giving such exhibi- 
tions of liberty as were sufficient to justify all despots for 
putting it down by force for centuries to come. 

Tom Gordon was the great organizer and leader of all 
these operations ; his suspicions had connected Clayton 


810 


THE ESCAPE. 


with the disappearance of his slaves, and he followed upon 
his track with the sagacity of a bloodhound. 

The outrage which he had perpetrated upon him in the 
forest, so far from being a matter of sham or concealment, 
was paraded as a cause for open boast and triumph. Tom 
rode about with his arm in a sling as a wounded hero, and 
received touching testimonials and demonstrations from 
sundry ladies of his acquaintance for his gallantry and 
spirit. When on the present occasion he found the pursuit 
of his slaves hopeless, his wrath and malice knew no 
bounds, and he determined to stir up and enkindle against 
Clayton to the utmost degree the animosities of the plant- 
ers around his estate of Magnolia Grove. 

This it was not difficult to do. We have already shown 
how much latent discontent and heart-burning had been 
excited by the course which Clayton and his sister had 
pursued on their estate. 

Tom Gordon had a college acquaintance with the eldest 
son of one of the neighboring families, a young man of as 
reckless and dissipated habits as his own. 

Hearing, therefore, that Clayton had retired to Magnolia 
Grove, he accepted an invitation of this young man to make 
him a visit, principally, as it would appear, for the purpose- 
of instigating some mischief. 


¥ 





CHAPTER XXXII. 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 

The reader next beholds Clayton at Magnolia Grove, 
whither he had fled to recruit his exhausted health and 
spirits. He had been accompanied there by Frank Russel. 

Our readers may often have observed how long habits of 
intimacy may survive between two persons who have em- 
barked in moral courses, which, if pursued, must eventually 
separate them forever. 

For such is the force of moral elements, that the ambi- 
tious and self-seeking cannot always walk with those who 
love good for its own sake. In this world, however, where 
all these things are imperfectly developed, habits of inti- 
macy often subsist a long time between the most opposing 
affinities. 

The fact was that Russel would not give up the society 
of Clayton. He admired the very thing in him which he 
wanted himself ; and he comforted himself for not listening 
to his admonitions by the tolerance and good-nature with 
which he had always heard them. When he heard that he 
was ill, he came to him and insisted upon travelling with 
him, attending him with the utmost fidelity and kindness. 

Clayton had not seen Anne before since his affliction — 
both because his time had been very much engaged, and 
because they who cannot speak of their sorrows often shrink 
from the society of those whose habits of intimacy and affec- 
tion might lead them to desire such confidence. But he 
was not destined in his new retreat to find the peace he 
desired. Our readers may remember that there were intima- 
21 


h. 


812 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


tions conveyed through his sister some time since of discon- 
tent arising in the neighborhood. 

The presence of Tom Gordon soon began to make itself 
felt. As a conductor introduced into an electric atmosphere 
will draw to itself the fluid, so he became an organizing 
point for the prevailing dissatisfaction. 

He went to dinner-parties and talked ; he wrote in the 
nearest paper ; he excited the inflammable and inconsid- 
erate ; and, before he had been there many weeks, a vigilance 
association was formed among the younger and more hot- 
headed of his associates, to search out and extirpate covert 
abolitionism. Anne and her brother first became sensible of 
an entire cessation of all those neighborly acts of kindness 
and hospitality, in which Southern people, when in a good 
humor, are so abundant. 

At last, one day Clayton was informed that three or four 
gentlemen of his acquaintance were wishing to see him in 
the parlor below. 

On descending, he was received first by his nearest neigh- 
bor, J udge Oliver, a fine-looking elderly gentleman, of influ- 
ential family connection. 

He was attended by Mr. Bradshaw, whom we have 
already introduced to our readers, and by a Mr. Knapp, 
who was a very wealthy planter, a man of great energy and 
ability, who had for some years figured as the representa- 
tive of his native state in Congress. 

It was evident, by the embarrassed air of the party, that 
they had come on business of no pleasing character. 

It is not easy for persons, however much excited they 
may be, to enter at once upon offensive communications to 
persons who receive them with calm and gentlemanly civil- 
ity ; therefore, after being seated, and having discussed the 
ordinary topics of the weather and the crops, the party 
looked one upon another, in a little uncertainty which should 
begin the real business of the interview. 

" Mr - Clayton / 7 at length said Judge Oliver, “ we are 
really sorry to be obliged to make disagreeable communica- 


LYN3H LAW AGAIN. 


313 


lions to you. We have all of us had the sincerest respect 
for your family, and for yourself. I have known and hon- 
ored your father many years, Mr. Clayton ; and, for my own 
part, I must say I anticipated much pleasure from your resi- 
dence in our neighborhood. I am really concerned to be 
obliged to say anything unpleasant ; but I am under the 
necessity of telling you that the course you have been pur- 
suing with regard to your servants, being contrary to the 
laws and usages of our social institutions, can no longer be 
permitted among us. You are aware that the teaching of 
slaves to read and write is forbidden by the law, under 
severe penalties. We have always been liberal in the inter- 
pretation of this law. Exceptional violations, conducted 
with privacy and discretion, in the case of favored servants,, 
whose general good conduct seems to merit such confidence, 
have from time to time existed, and passed among us with- 
out notice or opposition ; but the instituting of a regular 
system of instruction, to the extent and degree which exists 
upon your plantation, is a thing so directly in the face of 
the law, that we can no longer tolerate it ; and we have 
determined, unless this course is dropped, to take measures 
to put the law into execution.” 

“I had paid my adopted state the compliment,” said 
Clayton, “ to suppose such laws to be a mere relic of bar- 
barous ages, which the practical Christianity of our times 
would treat as a dead letter. I began my arrangements in 
all good faith, not dreaming that there could be found those 
who would oppose a course so evidently called for by the 
spirit of the Gospel, and the spirit of the age.” 

"You are entirely mistaken, sir,” said Mr. Knapp, in a 
tone of great decision, “ if you suppose these laws are, or 
can ever be, a matter of indifference to us, or can be suf- 
fered to become a dead letter. Sir, they are founded in the 
very nature of our institutions. They are indispensable to 
the preservation of our property, and the safety of our fami- 
lies. Once educate the negro population, and the whole 
system of our domestic institutions is at an end. ^)ur 


314 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


negroes have acquired already, by living among us, a 
degree of sagacity and intelligence which makes it difficult 
to hold an even rein over them ; and, once open the flood- 
gates of education, and there is no saying where they and 
we might be carried. I, for my part, do not approve of 
these exceptional instances Judge Oliver mentioned. Gen- 
erally speaking, those negroes whose intelligence and good 
conduct would make them the natural recipients of such 
favors are precisely the ones who ought not to be trusted 
with them. It ruins them. Why, just look at the history 
of the insurrection that very nearly cut off the whole city 
of Charleston : what sort of men were those who got it 
up ? They were just your steady, thoughtful, well-con- 
ducted men, — just the kind of men that people are teach- 
ing to read, because they think they are so good it can do 
no harm. Sir, my father was one of the magistrates on the 
trial of those men, and I have heard him say often there 
was not one man of bad character among them. They had 
all been remarkable for their good character. Why, there 
was that Denmark Yesey,. who was the head of it : for 
twenty years he served his master, and was the most faith- 
ful creature that ever breathed ; and after he got his liberty, 
everybody respected him, and liked him. Why, at first, my 
father said the magistrates could not be brought to arrest 
him, they were so sure that he could not have been engaged 
in such an affair. Now, all the leaders in that affair could 
read and write. They kept their lists of names ; and 
nobody knows, or ever will know, how many were down 
on them, for those fellows were deep as the grave, and you 
could not get a word out of them. Sir, they died and 
made no sign ; but all this is a warning to us.” 

“ And do you think,” said Clayton, “ that if men of that 
degree of energy and intelligence are refused instruction, 
they will not find means to get knowledge for themselves ? 
And if they do get it themselves, in spite of your precau- 
tions, they will assuredly use it against you. 

“ The fact is, gentlemen, it is inevitable that a certain 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


315 


degree of culture must come from their intercourse with 
us, and minds of a certain class will be stimulated to desire 
more ; and all the barriers we put up will only serve to 
inflame curiosity, and will make them feel a perfect liberty 
to use the knowledge they conquer from us against us. In 
my opinion, the only sure defence against insurrection is 
systematic education, by which we shall acquire that influ- 
ence over their minds which our superior cultivation will 
enable us to hold. Then, as fast as they become fitted to 
enjoy rights, we must grant them.” 

“ Not we, indeed ! ” said Mr. Knapp, striking his cane 
upon the floor. “ We are not going to lay down our power 
in that way. We will not allow any such beginning. We 
must hold them down firmly and consistently. For my 
part, I dislike even the system of oral religious instruction. 
It starts their minds, and leads them to want something 
more. It ’s indiscreet, and I always said so. As for teach- 
ing them out of the Bible, — why, the Bible is the most 
exciting book that ever was put together ! It always starts 
up the mind, and it ’s unsafe.” 

“Don’t you see,” said Clayton, “what an admission you 
are making ? What sort of a system must this be, that 
requires such a course to sustain it ? ” 

“ I can’t help that,” said Mr. Knapp. “ There ’s mil- 
lions and millions invested in it, and we can’t afford to risk 
such an amount of property for mere abstract speculation. 
The system is as good as forty other Systems that have pre- 
vailed, and will prevail. We can’t take the frame-work of 
society to pieces. We must proceed with things as they 
are. And now, Mr. Clayton, another thing I have to say to 
you,” said he, looking excited, and getting up and walking 
the floor. “ It has been discovered that you receive incen- 
diary documents through the post-office ; and this cannot 
be permitted, sir.” 

The color flushed into Clayton’s face, and his eye kindled 
as he braced himself in his chair. “ By what right,” ho 
n. 21* 


316 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


said, “ does any one pry into what I receive through the 
post-office ? Am I not a free man ? ” 

“ No, sir, you are not,” said Mr. Knapp, — “ not free to 
receive that which may imperil a whole neighborhood. You 
are not free to store barrels of gunpowder on your premises, 
when they may blow up ours. Sir, we are obliged to hold 
the mail under supervision in this state ; and suspected per- 
sons will not be allowed to receive communications without 
oversight. Don’t you remember that the general post- 
office was broken open in Charleston, and all the abolition 
documents taken out of the mail-bags and consumed, and a 
general meeting of all the most respectable citizens, headed 
by the clergy in their robes of office, solemnly confirmed the 
deed ? 

“ I think, Mr. Knapp,” said Judge Oliver, interposing in 
a milder tone, “ that your excitement is carrying you 
further than you are aware. I should rather hope that Mr. 
Clayton would perceive the reasonableness of our demand, 
and of himself forego the taking of these incendiary docu- 
ments.” 

“ I take no incendiary documents,” said Clayton, warmly. 
“It is true I take an anti-slavery paper, edited at Wash- 
ington, in which the subject is fairly and coolly discussed. 
I hold it no more than every man’s duty to see both sides 
of a question.” 

“Well, there, now,” said Mr. Knapp, “you see the 
disadvantage of having your slaves taught to read. If 
they could not read your papers, it would be no matter 
what you took ; but to have them get to reasoning on these 
subjects, and spread their reasonings through our planta- 
tions, — why, there ’ll be the devil to pay, at once.” 

“ You must be sensible,” said Judge Oliver, “ that there 
must be some individual rights which we resign for the 
public good. I have looked over the paper you speak of, 
and I acknowledge it seems to me very fair ; but, then, in 
our peculiar and critical position, it might prove dangerous 
to have such reading about my house, and I never have it.” 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


317 


“ In that case,” said Clayton, “ I wonder you don’t sup- 
press your own newspapers ; for as long as there is a con- 
gressional discussion, or a Fourth of July oration or sena- 
torial speech in them, so long they are full of incendiary 
excitement. Our history is full of it, our state bills of rights 
are full of it, the lives of our fathers are full of it ; we must 
suppress our whole literature, if we would avoid it.” 

“ Now, don’t you see,” said Mr. Knapp, “you have 
stated just so many reasons why slaves must not learn to 
read ? ” 

“ To be sure I do,” said Clayton; “ if they are always to 
remain slaves, if we are never to have any views of eman- 
cipation for them.” 

“ Well, they are to remain slaves,” said Mr. Knapp, 
speaking with excitement. “ Their condition is a finality ; 
we will not allow the subject of emancipation to be discussed, 
even.” 

“ Then, God have mercy on you ! ” said Clayton, solemnly ; 
“ for it is my firm belief that, in resisting the progress of 
human freedom, you will be found fighting against God.” 

“ It is n’t the cause of human freedom,” said Mr. Knapp, 
hastily. “ They are not human ; they are an inferior race, 
made expressly for subjection and servitude. The Bible 
teaches this plainly.” 

“ Why don’t you teach them to read it, then ? ” said Clay- 
ton, coolly. 

“ The long and the short of the matter is, Mr. Clayton,” 
said Mr. Knapp, walking nervously up and down the room, 
“you’ll find this is not a matter to be trifled with. We 
come, as your friends, to warn you ; and, if you don’t listen 
to our warnings, we shall not hold ourselves responsible for 
what may follow. You ought to have some consideration 
for your sister, if not for yourself.” 

“ I confess,” said Clayton, “ I had done the chivalry of 
South Carolina the honor to think that a lady could have 
nothing to fear.” 

“ It is so generally,” said Judge Oliver, “ but on this sub- 


318 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


ject there is such a dreadful excitability in the public mind, 
that we cannot control it. You remember, when the com- 
missioner was sent by the Legislature of Massachusetts 
to Charleston, he came with his daughter, a very cultivated 
and elegant young lady ; but the mob was rising, and we 
could not control it, and we had to go and beg them to 
leave the city. I, for one, would n’t have been at all answer- 
able for the consequences, if they had remained.” 

“ I must confess, Judge Oliver,” said Clayton, “ that I 
have been surprised, this morning, to hear South Carolinians 
palliating two such events in your history, resulting from 
mob violence, as the breaking open of the post-office, and 
the insult to the representative of a sister state, who came in 
the most peaceable and friendly spirit, and to womanhood in 
the person of an accomplished lady. Is this hydra-headed 
monster, the mob, to be our governor?” 

“ 0, it is only upon this subject,” said all three of the 
gentlemen, at once ; “this subject is exceptional.” 

“ And do you think,” said Clayton, “ that 

• .you can set the land on fire, 

To burn just so high, and no higher * ? 

You may depend upon it you will find that you cannot. The 
mob that you smile on and encourage when it does work 
that suits you, will one day prove itself your master in a 
manner that you will not like.” 

“ Well, now, Mr. Clayton,” said Mr. Bradshaw, who had 
not hitherto spoken, “ you see this is a very disagreeable 
subject ; but the fact is, we came in a friendly way to you. 
We all appreciate, personally, the merits of your character, 
and the excellence of your motives ; but, really sir, there is 
an excitement rising, there is a state of the public mind 
which is getting every day more and more inflammable. I 
talked with Miss Anne on this subject, some months ago, 
and expressed my feelings very fully ; and now, if you will 
only give us a pledge that you will pursue a different 
course, we shall have something to take hold of to quiet the 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


319 


popular mind. If you will just write and stop your paper for 
the present, and let it be understood that your plantation 
system is to be stopped, the thing will gradually cool itself 
off” 

Gentlemen, ’ said Clayton, il you are asking a very 
serious thing from me, and one which requires reflection. 
If I am violating the direct laws of the state, and these laws 
are to be considered as still in vital force, there is certainly 
seme question with regard to my course ; but still I have 
responsibilities for the moral and religious improvement of 
those under my care, which are equally binding. I see no 
course but removal from the state.” 

“ Of course, we should be sorry,” said Judge Oliver, 
“ you should be obliged to do that ; still we trust you will 
see the necessity, and our motives.” 

“ Necessity is the tyrant’s plea, I believe,” said Clayton, 
smiling. 

“ At all evetits, it is a strong one,” replied Judge Oliver, 
smiling also. “ But I am glad we have had this conversa- 
tion ; I think it will enable me to pacify the minds of some 
of our hot-headed young neighbors, and prevent threatened 
mischief.” 

After a little general conversation, the party separated on 
apparently friendly terms, and Clayton went to seek counsel 
with his sister and Frank Russel. 

Anne was indignant, with that straight-out and generous 
indignation which belongs to women, who, generally speak- 
ing, are ready to follow their principles to any result with 
more inconsiderate fearlessness than men. She had none 
of the anxieties for herself which Clayton had for her. 
Having once been witness of the brutalities of a slave-mob, 
Clayton could not, without a shudder, connect any such 
possibilities with his sister. 

11 1 think,” said Anne, “ we had better give up this mis- 
erable sham of a free government, of freedom of speech, 
freedom of conscience, and all that, if things must go on 
in this way.” 


320 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


“ 0," said Frank Russel, 11 the fact is that our republic, 
in these states, is like that of Venice ; it 's not a democracy, 
but an oligarchy, and the mob is its standing army. We 
are, all of us, under the ( Council of Ten/ which has its eyes 
everywhere. We are free enough as long as our actions 
please them ; when they don't, we shall find their noose 
around our necks. It 's very edifyiug, certainly, to have 
these gentlemen call on you to tell you that they will not be 
answerable for consequences of excitement which they are 
all the time stirring up ; for, after all, who cares what you 
do, if they don't ? The large proprietors are the ones inter- 
ested. The rabble are their hands, and this warning about 
popular excitement just means, ‘ Sir, if you don't take care, 
I shall let out my dogs, and then I won't be answerable for 
consequences.' " 

“ And you call this liberty 1 " said Anne, indignantly. 

“0, well," said Russel, “ this is a world of humbugs. 
We call it liberty because it 's an agreeable name. After 
all, what is liberty, that people make such a breeze about ? 
We are all slaves to one thing or another. Nobody is abso- 
lutely free, except Robinson Crusoe, in the desolate island ; 
and he tears all his shirts to pieces and hangs them up 
as signals of distress, that he may get back into slavery 
again." 

“ For all that," said Anne, warming, “ I know there is 
such a thing as liberty. All that nobleness and enthusiasm 
which has animated people in all ages for liberty cannot be 
in vain. Who does not thrill at those words of the Mar- 
sellaise : 

‘ 0, Liberty, can men resign thee, 

Once having felt thy generous flame ? 

Can dungeons, bolts, or bars, confine thee, 

Or whips thy noble spirit tame ? ’ ” 

“ These are certainly agreeable myths," said Russel, 
u but. these things will not bear any close looking into. 
Liberty has generally meant the liberty of me and my na- 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


321 


tion and my class to do what we please ; which is a very 
pleasant thing, certainly, to those who are on the upper side 
of the wheel, and probably involving much that 's disagree- 
able to those who are under. '' 

“ That is a heartless, unbelieving way of talking,” said 
Anne, with tears in her eyes. “ I know there have been 
some right true, noble souls, in whom the love of liberty 
has meant the love of right, and the desire that every hu- 
man brother should have what rightly belongs to him. It 
is not my liberty, nor our liberty, but th o principle of liber- 
ty itself, that they strove for.” 

“ Such a principle, carried out logically, would make 
smashing work in this world,” said Russel. “ In this sense, 
where is there a free government on earth ? What nation 
ever does or ever did respect the right of the weaker, or 
ever will, till the millennium comes ? — and that 's too far off 
to be of much use in practical calculations ; so don't let 's 
break our hearts about a name. For my part, I am more 
concerned about these implied threats. As I said before, 
‘the hand of Joab is in this thing.' Tom Gordon is visit- 
ing in this neighborhood, and you may depend upon it that 
this, in some way, comes from him. He is a perfectly reck- 
less fellow, and I am afraid of some act of violence. If he 
should bring up a mob, whatever they do, there will be no 
redress for you. These respectable gentlemen, your best 
friends, will fold their hands, and say, ‘ Ah, poor fellow ! we 
told him so ! ' while others will put their hands compla- 
cently in their pockets, and say, ‘ Served him right 1 ' 

“ I think,” said Clayton, “ there will be no immediate 
violence. I understood that they pledged as much when 
they departed.” 

“ If Tom Gordon is in the camp,” said Russel, “they may 
find that they have reckoned without their host in promising 
that. There are two or three young fellows in this vicinity 
who, with his energy to direct them, are reckless enough 
for anything ; and there is always .an abundance of excitable 
rabble to be got for a drink of whiskey.” 


S22 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


The event proved that Russel was right. Anne’s bed- 
room was in the back part of the cottage, opposite the little 
grove where stood her school-room. 

She was awakened, about one o’clock, that night, by a 
broad, ruddy glare of light, which caused her at first to 
start from her bed, with the impression that the house was 
on fire. 

At the same instant she perceived that the air was full of 
barbarous and dissonant sounds, such as the beating of tin 
pans, the braying of horns, and shouts of savage merriment, 
intermingled with slang oaths and curses. 

In a moment, recovering herself, she perceived that it was 
her school-house which was in a blaze, crisping and shriv- 
elling the foliage of the beautiful trees by which it was sur- 
rounded, and filling the air with a lurid light. 

She hastily dressed, and in a few moments Clayton and 
Russel knocked at her door. Both were looking very pale. 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” said Clayton, putting his arm around 
her with that manner which shows that there is everything 
to fear ; "I am going out to speak to them.” 

“ Indeed, you are going to do no such thing,” said Frank 
Russel, decidedly. “This is no time for any extra displays 
of heroism. These men are insane with whiskey and excite- 
ment. They have probablv been especially inflamed against 
you, and your presence would irritate them still more. Let 
me go out : I understand the ignobile vulgus better than you 
do ; besides which, providentially, I have n’t any conscience 
to prevent my saying and doing what is necessary for an 
emergency. You shall see me lead off this whole yelling 
pack at my heels in triumph. And now, Clayton, you take 
care of Anne, like a good fellow, till I come back, which 
may be about four or five o’clock to-morrow morning. I 
shall toll all these fellows down to Muggins’, and leave them 
so drunk they cannot stand for one three hours.” 

So saying, Frank proceeded hastily to disguise himself in 
a shaggy old great coat, and to tie around his throat a red 
bandanna silk handkerchief, witli a very fiery and dashing 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


323 


lift, and surmounting these equipments by an old hat which 
had belonged to one of the servants, he stole out of the 
front door, and, passing around through the shrubbery, was 
very soon lost in the throng who surrounded the burning 
building. He soon satisfied himself that Tom Gordon was 
not personally among them, — that they consisted entirely 
of the lower class of whites. 

“ So far, so good,” he said to himself, and, springing on to 
the stump of a tree, he commenced a speech in that peculiar 
slang dialect which was vernacular with them, and of which 
he perfectly well understood the use. 

With his quick and ready talent for drollery, he soon had 
them around him in paroxysms of laughter ; and, compliment- 
ing their bravery, flattering and cajoling their vanity, he 
soon got them completely in his power, and they assented, 
with a triumphant shout, to the proposition that they should 
go down and celebrate their victory at Muggins’ grocery, a 
low haunt about a mile distant, whither, as he predicted, 
they all followed him. And he was as good as his word in 
not leaving them till all were so completely under the 
power of liquor as to be incapable of mischief for the time 
being. 

About nine o’clock the next day he returned, finding 
Clay&m and Anne seated together at breakfast. 

“ Now, Clayton,” he said, seating himself, “I am going 
to talk to you in good, solemn earnest, for once. The fact 
is, you are checkmated. Your plans for gradual emanci- 
pation, or reform, or anything tending in that direction, are 
utterly hopeless ; and, if you want to pursue them with 
your own people, you must either send them to Liberia, or 
to tne Northern States. There was a time, fifty years ago, 
when such things were contemplated with some degree of 
sincerity by all the leading minds at the South. That time 
is over. From the very day that they began to open new 
territories to slavery, the value of this kind of property 
mounted up, so as to make emancipation a moral impossibil- 
ity. It is, as they told you, a finality ; and don’t you see 
n 28 


324 


LYNCH LAW AGAIN. 


how they make everything in the Union bend to it ? Wh/ , 
these men are only about three tenths of toe population of 
our Southern States, and yet the other seven tenths vir« 
tually have no existence. All they do is to vote as they 
are told — as they know they must, being too ignorant to 
know any better. 

“ The mouth of the North is stuffed with cotton, and will 
be kept full as long as it suits us. Good, easy gentlemen, 
they are so satisfied with their pillows, and other accommo- 
dations inside of the car, that they don’t trouble themselves 
to reflect that we are the engineers, nor to ask where wo 
are going. And, when any one does wake up and pipe out 
in melancholy inquiry, we slam the door in his face, and 
tell him ‘ Mind your own business, sir/ and he leans back 
on his cotton pillow, and goes to sleep again, only whimper- 
ing a little, that ‘we might be more polite/ 

“ They have their fanatics up there. We don’t trouble our- 
selves to put them down ; we make them do it. They get 
up mobs on our account, to hoot troublesome ministers and 
editors out of their cities ; and their men that they send to 
Congress invariably do all our dirty work. There ’s now 
and then an exception, it is true ; but they only prove the 
rule. 

“ If there was any public sentiment at the North for you 
reformers to fall back upon, you might, in spite of your 
difficulties, do something ; but there is not. They are all 
implicated with us, except the class of born fanatics, like 
you, who are walking in that very unfashionable narrow 
way we ’ve heard of.” 

“ Well,” said Anne, “let us go out of the state, then. 
I will go anywhere ; but I will not stop the work that I 
have begun.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


FLIGHT. 

The party of fugitives, which started for the North, was 
divided into two bands. Harry, Lisette, Tiff, and his two 
children, assumed the character of a family, of whom Harry 
took the part of father, Lisette the nurse, and Tiff the man- 
servant. 

The money which Clayton had given them enabling them 
to furnish a respectable outfit, they found no difficulty in 
taking passage under this character, at Norfolk, on board a 
small coasting-vessel bound to New York. 

Never had Harry kno wn a moment so full of joyous se- 
curity as that which found him out at sea in a white- winged 
vessel, flying with all speed toward the distant port of 
safety. 

Before they neared the coast of New York, however, 
there was a change in their prospects. The blue sky 
became darkened, and the sea, before so treacherously 
smooth, began to rise in furious waves. The little ves- 
sel was tossed baffling about by contrary and tumultuous 
winds. 

When she began to pitch and roll, in all the violence of a 
decided storm, Lisette and the children cried for fear. Old 
Tiff exerted himself for their comfort to the best of his 
ability. Seated on the cabin-floor, with his feet firmly 
braced, he would hold the children in his arms, and remind 
them of what Miss Nina had read to them of the storm 
that came down on the Lake of Gennesareth, and how 


326 


FLIGHT. 


Jesus was in the hinder part of the boat, asleep on a pillow 
“ And he 's dar yet,” Tiff would say. 

“ I wish they 'd wake him up, then,” said Teddy, discon- 
solately ; “ I don't like this dreadful noise 1 What does he 
let it be so for ? ” 

Before the close of that day the fury of the storm in- 
creased ; and the horrors of that night can only be told by 
those who have felt the like. The plunging of the vessel, the 
creaking and straining of the timbers, the hollow and sepul- 
chral sound of waves striking against the hull, and the 
shiver with which, like a living creature, she seemed to 
tremble at every shock, were things frightful even to the 
experienced sailor ; much more so to our trembling 
refugees. 

The morning dawned only to show the sailors their bark 
drifting helplessly toward a fatal shore, whose name is a 
sound of evil omen to seamen. 

It was not long before the final crash came, and the 
ship was wedged among rugged rocks, washed over every 
moment by the fury of the waves. 

All hands came now on deck for the last chance of life. 
One boat after another was attempted to be launched, but 
was swamped by the furious waters. When the last boat 
was essayed, there was a general rush of all on board. It 
was the last chance for life. In such hours the instinctive fear 
of death often overbears every other consideration ; and the 
boat was rapidly filled by the hands of the ship, who, being 
strongest and most accustomed to such situations, were 
more able to effect this than the passengers. The captain 
alone remained standing on the wreck, and with him Harry, 
Lisette, Tiff, and the children. 

“ Pass along,” said the captain, hastily pressing Lisette on 
board, simply because she was the first that came to hand. 

“ Por de good Lord's sake,” said Tiff, “ put de chil'en on 
board ; dere won't be no room for me, and 't an't no matter ! 
You go 'board and take care of 'em,” he said, pushing 
Harry along. 


FLIGHT. 


327 


Harry mechanically sprang into the boat, and the cap- 
tain after him. The boat was full. 

“ 0, do take poor Tiff — do I ” said the children, stretch- 
ing their hands after their old friend. 

“ Clear away, boys, — the boat full I ” shouted a dozen 
voices ; and the boat parted from the wreck, and sunk in 
eddies and whirls of boiling waves, foam, and spray, and 
went, rising and sinking, onward driven toward the 
shore. 

A few, looking backwards, saw a mighty green wave 
come roaring and shaking its crested head, lift the hull as 
if it had been an egg-shell, then dash it in fragments upon 
the rocks. This was all they knew, till they were them- 
selves cast, wet and dripping, but still living, upon the 
sands. 

A crowd of people were gathered upon the shore, who, 
with the natural kindness of humanity on such occasions, 
gathered the drenched and sea-beaten wanderers into 
neighboring cottages, where food and fire, and changes of 
dry clothing, awaited them. 

The children excited universal sympathy and attention, 
and so many mothers of the neighborhood came bringing 
offerings of clothing, that their lost wardrobe was soon very 
tolerably replaced. But nothing could comfort them for the 
loss of their old friend. In vain the “ little dears ” were 
tempted with offers of cake and custard, and every imagin- 
able eatable. They sat with their arms around each other, 
quietly weeping. 

No matter how unsightly the casket may be which holds 
all the love there is on earth for us, be that love lodged in 
the heart of the poorest and most uneducated, the whole 
world can offer no exchange for the loss of it. 

Tiff’s devotion to these children had been so constant, 
so provident, so absolute, that it did not seem to them pos- 
sible they could live a day without him ; and the desolation 
of their lot seemed to grow upon them every hour. Noth- 
ing would restrain them. They would go cut and look up 
ii. 28 * 


328 


FLIGHT. 


and down, if, perhaps, they might meet him ; hut they 
searched in vain. And Harry, who had attended them, led 
them back again, disconsolate. 

“Isay, Fanny,” said Teddy, after they had said their 
prayers, and laid down in their little bed, “ has Tiff gone to 
heaven ? ” 

“ Certainly he has/ 7 said Fanny, “ if ever anybody went 
there .” 

“ Won’t he come and bring us pretty soon ? ” said Teddy. 
“ He won’t want to be there without us, will he ? ” 

“ 0, I don’t know,” said Fanny. “ I wish we could go ; 
the world is so lonesome ! ” 

And, thus talking, the children fell asleep. But it is 
written in an ancient record, “ Weeping may endure for a 
night, but joy cometh in the morning and, verily, the next 
morning Teddy started up in bed, and awakened his sister 
with a cry of joy. 

“ 0, Fanny ! Fanny ! Tiff is n’t dead ! I heard him 
laughing.” 

Fanny started up, and, sure enough, there came through 
the partition which separated their little sleeping-room 
from the kitchen a sound very much like Tiff’s old, unctu- 
ous laugh. 

One would have thought no other pair of lungs could 
have rolled out the jolly Ho, ho, ho, with such a joyous 
fulness of intonation. 

The children hastily put on their clothes, and opened the 
door. 

“Why, bress de Lord! poppets, here dey is, sure 
’nough ! Ho ! ho I ho ! ” said Tiff, stretching out his 
arms, while both the children ran and hung upon him. 

“ 0, Tiff, we are so glad ! 0, we thought you was 

drowned ; we ’ve been thinking so all night.” 

“No, no, no, bress de Lord! You don’t get shet of Ole 
Tiff dat ar way ! Won’t get shet him till ye’s fetched up, 
and able to do for yerselves.” 

“ 0, Tiff, how did you get away ? ” 


FLIGHT. 


329 


“Laws ! why, chiFens, ’t was a very strait way. I told 
de Lord ’bout it. Says I, 1 Good Lord, you knows I don’t 
car nothing ’bout it on my own ’count ; but ’pears like 
dese chil’en is so young and tender, I could n’t leave dem, 
no way ; ’ and so I axed him if he would n’t jest please to 
help me, ’cause I knowed he had de power of de winds and 
de sea. Well, sure ’nough, dat ar big wave toted me clar up 
right on de sho’ ; but it tuk my breff and my senses so I 
did n’t farly know whar I was. And de peoples dat foun’ 
me took me a good bit ’way to a house down here, and dey 
was ’mazing good to me, and rubbed me wid de hot flan- 
nels, and giv me one ting and anoder, so ’t I woke up 
quite peart dis mornin’, and came out to look up my pop- 
pets ; ’cause, yer see, it was kinder borne in on my mind 
dat I should find you. And now yer see, chil’en, you mark 
my words, de Lord ben wid us in six troubles, and in seven, 
and he ’ll bring us to good luck yet. Tell ye, de sea han’t 
washed dat ar out o’ me, for all its banging and bruising.” 
And Tiff chuckled in the fulness of his heart, and made a 
joyful noise. 

His words were so far accomplished that, before many 
days, the little party, rested and refreshed, and with the 
losses of their wardrobe made up by friendly contributions, 
found themselves under the roof of some benevolent friends 
in New York. 

Thither, in due time, the other detachment of their 
party arrived, which had come forward under the guidance 
of Hannibal, by ways and means which, as they may be 
wanted for others in like circumstances, we shall not further 
particularize. 

Harry, by the kind patronage of friends, soon obtained 
employment, which placed him and his wife in a situation 
of comfort. 

Milly and her grandson, and Old Tiff and his children, 
were enabled to hire a humble tenement together ; and she, 
finding employment as a pastry-cook in a confectioner’s 
establishment, was able to provide a very comfortable 


330 


FLIGHT. 


support, while Tiff presided in the housekeeping depart- 
ment. 

After a year or two an event occurred of so romantic a 
nature, that, had we not ascertained it as a positive fact, 
we should hesitate to insert it in our veracious narrative. 

Fanny’s mother had an aunt in the Peyton family, a 
maiden lady of very singular character, who, by habits of 
great penuriousness, had amassed a large fortune, apparently 
for no other purpose than that it should, some day, fall 
into the hands of somebody who would know how to 
enjoy it. 

Having quarrelled, shortly before her death, with all her 
other relatives, she cast about in her mind for ways and 
means to revenge herself on them, by placing her property 
out of their disposal. 

She accordingly made a will, bequeathing it to the heirs 
of her niece Susan, if any such heirs existed ; and if not, the 
property was to go to an orphan asylum. 

By chance, the lawyer’s letter of inquiry was addressed 
to Clayton, who immediately took the necessary measures 
to identify the children, and put them in possession of the 
property. 

Tiff now was glorious. “ He always knowed it,*’ he said, 
“ dat Miss Sue’s chil’en would come to luck, and dat de 
Lord would open a door for them, and he had.” 

Fanny, who was now a well-grown girl of twelve years, 
chose Clayton as her guardian ; and, by his care, she was 
placed at one of the best New England schools, where her 
mind and her person developed rapidly. 

Her brother was placed at school in the same town. 

As for Clayton, after some inquiry and consideration, he 
bought a large and valuable tract of land in that portion of 
Canada where the climate is least severe, and the land the 
most valuable for culture. 

To this place he removed his slaves, and formed there a 
township, which is now one of the richest and finest in the 
region. 


FLIGHT. 


331 


Here he built for himself a beautiful residence, where he 
and his sister live happily together, finding their enjoyment 
in the improvement of those by whom they are surrounded. 

It is a striking comment on the success of Clayton's 
enterprise, that the neighboring white settlers, who at first 
looked coldly upon him, fearing he would be the means of 
introducing a thriftless population among them, have been 
entirely won over, and that the value of the improvements 
which Clayton and his tenants have made has nearly doubled 
the price of real estate in the vicinity. 

So high a character have his schools borne, that the while 
settlers in the vicinity have discontinued their own, pre- 
ferring to have their children enjoy the advantages of those 
under his and his sister's patronage and care.* 

Harry is one of the head men of the settlement, and is 
rapidly acquiring property and consideration in the commu- 
nity. 

A large farm, waving with some acres of fine wheat, with 
its fences and outhouses in excellent condition, marks the 
energy and thrift of Hannibal, who, instead of slaying men, 
is great in felling trees and clearing forests. 

He finds time, winter evenings, to read, with “ none to 
molest or make afraid." His oldest son is construing 
Caesar's Commentaries at school, and often reads his lesson 
of an evening to his delighted father, who willingly resigns 
the palm of scholarship into his hands, 

As to our merry friend Jim, he is the life of the settle- 
ment. Liberty, it is true, has made him a little more sober; 
and a very energetic and capable wife, soberer still ; but 
yet Jim lias enough and to spare of drollery, which makes 
him an indispensable requisite in all social. gatherings. 

He works on his farm with energy, and repels with indig- 
nation any suggestion that he was happier in the old times, 
when he had abundance of money, and very little to do. 


* These statements are all true of the Elgin settlement, founded by Mr. 
King, a gentleman who removed and settled his slaves in the south of Canada. 


332 


PLIGHT. 


One suggestion more we almost hesitate to make, lest it 
should give rise to unfounded reports ; but we are obliged 
to speak the truth. 

Anne Clayton, on a visit to a friend's family in New 
Hampshire, met with Livy Kay, of whom she had heard 
Nina speak so much, and very naturally the two ladies fell 
into a most intimate friendship ; visits were exchanged 
between them, and Clayton, on. first introduction, discov- 
ered the lady he had met in the prison in Alexandria. 

The most intimate friendship exists between the three, 
and, of course, in such cases reports will arise ; but we 
assure our readers we have never heard of any authentic 
foundation for them ; so that, in this matter, we can clearly 
leave every one to predict a result according to their own 
fancies. 

We have now two sketches, with which the scenery of 
our book must close. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 

Clayton had occasion to visit New York on business. 

He never went without carrying some token of remem- 
brance from the friends in his settlement to Milly, now 
indeed far advanced in years, while yet, in the expressive 
words of Scripture, “ her eye was not dim, nor her natural 
force abated.” 

He found her in a neat little tenement in one of the outer 
streets of New York, surrounded by about a dozen children, 
among whom were blacks, whites, and foreigners. These 
she had rescued from utter destitution in the streets, and was 
giving to them all the attention and affection of a mother. 

“ Why, bless you, sir,” she said to him, pleasantly, as he 
opened the door, “it's good to see you once more ! How 
is Miss Anne ? ” 

“ Very well, Milly. She sent you this little packet ; and 
you will find something from Harry and Lisette, and all the 
rest of your friends in our settlement. — Ah ! are these all 
your children, Milly ? ” 

“ Yes, honey ; mine and de Lord’s. Dis yer ’s my sec- 
ond dozen. De fust is all in good places, and doing well. 
I keeps my eye on ’em, and goes round to see after ’em a 
little, now and then.” 

“ And how is Tomtit ? ” 

“ 0, Tomtit ’s doing beautiful, thank ’e, sir. He ’s ’come 
a Christian, and jined the church ; and they has him to wait 
and tend at the anti-slavery office, and he does well” 

** I see you have black and white here,” said Clayton, 


334 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 


glancing around the circle. “ Laws, yes,” said Milly, look- 
ing complacently around ; “ I don’t make no distinctions of 
color, — I don’t believe in them. White chil’en, when they 
’haves themselves, is jest as good as black, and I loves ’em 
jest as well.” 

“ Don’t you sometimes think it a little hard you should 
have to work so in your old age ? ” 

“ Why, bress you, honey, no ! I takes comfort of my 
money as I goes along. Dere ’s a heap in me yet,” she 
said, laughing. “ I ’s hoping to get dis yer batch put out and 
take in anoder afore I die. You see,” she said, “ dis yer ’s 
de way I took to get my heart whole. I found it was get- 
ting so sore for my chil’en I ’d had took from me, ’pears 
like the older I grow’d the more I thought about ’em ; but 
long ’s I keeps doing for chil’en it kinder eases it. I calls 
’em all mine ; so I ’s got good many chil’en now.” 

We will inform our reader, in passing, that Milly, in the 
course of her life, on the humble wages of a laboring 
woman, took from the streets, brought up, and placed in 
reputable situations, no less than forty destitute children.* 

When Clayton returned to Boston, he received a note 
written in a graceful female hand, from Fanny, expressing 
her gratitude for his kindness to her and her brother, and 
begging that he would come and spend a day with them at 
their cottage in the vicinity of the city. Accordingly, eight 
o’clock the next morning found him whirling in the cars 
through green fields and pleasant meadows, garlanded with 
flowers and draped with bending elms, to one of those 
peaceful villages which lie like pearls on the bosom of our 
fair old mother, Massachusetts. 

Stopping at station, he inquired his way up to a 

little eminence which commanded a view of one of those 
charming lakes which open their blue eyes everywhere 

* These circumstances are true of an old colored woman in New York, known 
by the name of Aunt Katy, who in her youth was a slave, and who is said to 
have established among these destitute children the first Sunday-school in the 
city of New York. 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 


335 


through the New England landscape. TIere, embowered in 
blossoming trees, stood a little Gothic cottage, a perfect 
gem of rural irregularity and fanciful beauty. A porch in 
the front of it was supported on pillars of cedar, with the 
rough bark still on, around which were trained multitudes of 
climbing roses, now in full flower. From the porch a rustic 
bridge led across a little ravine into a summer-house, which 
was built like a nest into the branches of a great oak which 
grew up f;om the hollow below the knoll on which the house 
stood. 

A light form, dressed in a pretty white wrapper, came 
fluttering across the bridge, as Clayton ascended the steps 
of the porch. Perhaps our readers may recognize in the 
smoothly-parted brown hair, the large blue eyes, and the 
bashful earnestness of the face, our sometime little friend 
Fanny; if they do not, we think they'll be familiar with 
the cheery “ho, ho, ho,” which comes from the porch, as our 
old friend Tiff, dressed iu a respectable suit of black,* comes 
bowing forward. “Press de Lord, Mas’r Clayton, — it's 
good for de eyes to look at you ! So, you 's come to see 
Miss Fanny, now she 's come to her property, and has got 
de place she ought for to* have. Ah, ah 1 — Old Tiff allers 
know’d it I He seed it — he know'd de Lord would bring 
her out right, and he did. Ho ! ho 1 ho ! '' 

“Yes,” said Fanny, “and I sometimes think I don't 
enjoy it half as well as Uncle Tiff. 1 ’m sure he ought to 
have some comfort of us, for he worked hard enough for us, 
— didn't you, Uncle Tiff?” 

“ Work ! bress your soul, did n’t I ? ” said Tiff, giggling 
all over in cheerful undulations. “Reckon I has worked, 
though 1 doesn’t have much of it to do now; but I sees 
good of my work now’days, — does so. Mas'r Teddy, he ’s 
grow'd up tall, han'some young gen'leman, aud he 's in col- 
lege, — only tink of dat I Laws ! he can make de Latin 
fly ! Dis yer 's pretty good country, too. Dere 's families 
round here dat 's e’enamost up to old Virginny ; and she 
iroes with de beRt on 'em — dat she does ” 
u. 29 


336 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RALN. 


Fanny now led Clayton into the house, and, while she 
tripped up stairs to change her morning dress, Tift* busied 
himself in arranging cake and fruit on a silver salver, as an 
apology for remaining in the room. 

He seemed to consider the interval as an appropriate one 
for making some confidential communications on a subject 
that lay very near his heart. So, after looking out of the 
door with an air of great mystery, to ascertain that Miss 
Fanny was really gone, he returned to Clayton, and touched 
him on the elbow with an air of infinite secrecy and pre- 
caution. 

“ Dis yer an 't to be spoke of out loud,” he said. “ I 's 
ben mighty anxious ; but, bress de Lord, I 's come safely 
through ; 'cause, yer see, I 's found out he 's a right likely 
man, beside being one of de very fastest old families in de 
state ; and dese yer old families here 'bout as good as dey 
was in Virginny ; and, when all 's said and done, it 's de 
men dat 's de ting, after all ; 'cause a gal can't marry all 
de generations back, if dey 's ever so nice. But he 's one 
of your likeliest men.'' 

“ What 's his name ? '' said Clayton. 

“Russel,” said Tiff, lifting up his hand apprehensively to 
his mouth, and shouting out the name in a loud whisper. 
“ I reckon he '11 be here to-day, 'cause Mas'r Teddy 's com- 
ing home, and going to bring him wid him ; so please, Mas'r 
Clayton, you won’t notice nothing ; ’cause Miss Fanny, 
she 's jest like her ma, — she '11 turn red clar up to her 
bar, if a body only looks at her. See here,” said Tiff, fum- 
bling in his pocket, and producing a spectacle-case, out of 
which he extracted a portentous pair of gold-mounted spec- 
tacles ; “ see what he give me, de last time he 's here. I 
puts dese yer on of a Sundays, when 1 sets down to read 
my Bible.” 

“Indeed,” said Clayton; “have you learned, then, to 
read ? ” 

“Why, no, honey, I don'no as I can rightly say dat I 'a 
lam'd to read, 'cause I 's 'mazing slow at dat ar ; but, den, 


CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN. 


337 


I *8 larn'd all de best words, like Christ, Lord, and God, 
and dem ar ; and whar dey 's pretty thick, I makes out 
quite comfortable.” 

We shall not detain our readers with minute descriptions 
of how the day was spent : how Teddy came home from 
college a tall, handsome fellow, and rattled over Latin an<i 
Greek sentences in Tiff's delighted ears, who considered his 
learning as, without doubt, the eighth wonder of the world ; 
nor how George Russel came with him, a handsome 
senior, just graduated ; nor how Fanny blushed and trem- 
bled when she told her guardian her little secret, and, like 
other ladies, asked advice after she had made up her mind. 

Nor shall we dilate on the yet brighter glories of the cot- 
tage three months after, when Clayton, and Anne, and Livy 
Ray, were all at the wedding, and Tiff became three 
and four times blessed in this brilliant consummation of his 
hopes. The last time we saw him he was walking forth in 
magnificence, his gold spectacles set conspicuously astride 
of his nose, trundling a little wicker wagon, which cradled 
a fair, pearly little Miss Fanny, whom he informed all 
beholders was “de very sperit of de Peytons.” 


APPENDIX I 


NAT TURNER’S CONFESSIONS. 

As an illustration of the character and views ascribed to Dred, we make 
a few extracts from the Confessions of Nat Turner, as published by T. R 
Gray, Esq., of Southampton, Virginia, in November, 1831. One of the 
principal conspirators in this affair was named Dred. 

We will first give the certificate of the court, and a few sentences from 
Mr. Gray’s introductory remarks, and then proceed with Turner’s own 
narrative. 

“ We, the undersigned, members of the court convened at Jerusalem, on 
Saturday, the fifth day of November, 1831, for the trial of Nat, alias Nat 
Turner, a negro slave, late the property of Putnam Moore, deceased, do 
hereby certify, that the confession of Nat, to Thomas R. Gray, was read to 
him in our presence, and that Nat acknowledged the same to be full, free, 
and voluntary ; and that furthermore, when called upon by the presiding 
magistrate of the court to state if he had anything to say why sentence of 
death should not be passed upon him, replied he had nothing further than 
he had communicated to Mr. Gray. Given under our hands and seals at 
Jerusalem, this^fth day of November, 1831. 

Jrhemiati Cobb, (Seal.) Thomas Pretlow, (Seal.) 

James W. Parker, (Seal.) Carr Bowers, (Seal.) 

Samuel B Hines, (Seal.) Orris A. Browse, (Seal ) ** 

“ State of Virginia , Southampton County, to wit: 

“I, James Rochelle, Clerk of the County Court of Southampton, m the 
State of Virginia, do hereby certify, that Jeremiah Cobb. Thomas Pretlow. 
James W Parker, Carr Bowers, Samuel D llines, an? Orris A. Browne, 
Esqrs., are acting justices of the pcaoe m ari for the county afcaesald , 
and were members of the court vhich conveneo at Jerusalem, on Saturday, 
thp fifth day of November, 1831, for the tm j* TV. alias Nat turner, a 
negro slave, late the property of Tutnam Moore, deceased, who was tried 


APPENDIX. 


339 


and convicted, as an insurgent in the late insurrection in the County of 
Southampton aforesaid, and that full faith and credit are due and ought 
to be gi ven to their acts as justices of the peace aforesaid. 

(Seal.) In testimony whereof, I have hereunto set 
my hand, and caused the seal of the court 
aforesaid to be affixed, this fifth day of 
November, 1831. 

James Rochelle, C. S. C. C.” 

Everything connected with this sad affair was wrapt in mystery, untn 
Nat Turner, the leader of this ferocious band, whose name has resounded 
throughout our widely-extended empire, was captured. 

“ Since his confinement, by permission of the jailer, I have had ready 
access to him ; and, finding that he was willing to make a full and free con- 
fession of the origin, progress, and consummation, of the insurrectory move- 
ments of the slaves, of which he was the contriver and head, I determineu, 
for the gratification of public curiosity, to commit his statements to writing, 
and publish them, with little or no variation, from his own words. 

“ He was not only the contriver of the conspiracy, but gave the first blow 
towards its execution. 

“ It will thus appear, that whilst everything upon the surface of society 
wore a calm and peaceful aspect, whilst not one note of preparation was 
heard to warn the devoted inhabitants of woe and death, a gloomy fanatic 
was revolving in the recesses of his own dark, bewildered, and overwrought 
mind, schemes of indiscriminate massacre to the whites. Schemes too fear- 
fully executed, as far as his fiendish band proceeded in their desolating 
march. No ciy for mercy penetrated their flinty bosoms. No acts of re- 
membered kindness made the least impression Upon these remorseless mur- 
derers. Men, women, and children, from hoary age to helpless infancy, 
were involved in the same cruel fate. Never did a band of savages do their 
work of death more unsparingly. 

“ Nat has survived all his followers, and the gallows will speedily close 
his career. His own account of the conspiracy is submitted to the public, 
without comment. It reads an awful, and, it is hoped, a useful lesson, as 
to the operations of a mind like his, endeavoring to grapple with things 
beyond its reach. How it first became bewilderel and confounded, and 
finally corrupted and led to the conception and perpetration of the most 
atrocious and heartrending deeds. 

/ if Nat’s statements can be relied on, the insurrection in this county 
V-L entirely local, and his designs confided but to a few, and these in his im- 
mediate vicinity. It was not instigated by motives of revenge or sudden 
anger ; but the result of long deliberation, and a settled purpose of mind — 
the offspring of gloomy fanaticism acting upon materials but too well pre- 
pared for such impressions.” 

II. 29 * 


340 


APPENDIX. 


“ I was thirty-one years of age the second of October last, and born the 
property of Benjamin Turner, of this county. In my childhood a circum- 
stance occurred which made an indelible impression on my mind, and laid 
the groundwork of that enthusiasm which has terminated so fatally to 
many, both white and blaok, and for which I am about to atone at the 
gallows. It is here necessary to relate this circumstance. Trifling as it 
may seem, it was the commencement of that belief which has grown with 
time ; and even now, sir, in this dungeon, helpless and forsaken as I am, 
I cannot divest myself of. Being at play with other children, when three 
or four years old, I was telling them something, which my mother, over- 
hearing, said it had happened before I was born. I stuck to my story, 
however, and related some thinga which went, in her opinion, to confirm it. 
Others being called on, were greatly astonished, knowing that these things 
had happened, and caused them to say, in my hearing, I surely would be a 
prophet, as the Lord had shown me things that had happened before my 
birth. And ray father and mother strengthened me in this my first im- 
pression, saying, in my presence, I was intended for some great purpose, 
which they had always thought from certain marks on my head and breast. 
(A parcel of excrescences, which, I believe, are not at all uncommon, 
particularly among negroes, as I have seen several with the same. In this 
case he has either cut them off, or they have nearly disappeared.) 

“ My grandmother, who was very religious, and to whom I was much 
attachod — my master, who belonged to the church, and other religious 
persons who visited the house, and whom I often saw at prayers, noticing 
the singularity of my manners, 1 suppose, and my uncommon intelligence 
for a child, remarked I had too much sense to be raised, and, if I was, I 
would never be of any service to any one as a slave. To a mind like mine, 
restless, inquisitive, and observant of everything that was passing, it is 
easy to suppose that religion was the subject to which it would be directed ' 
and. although this subject principally occupied my thoughts, there was 
nothing that I saw or heard of to which my attention was not directed. 
The manner in which I learned to read and write, not only had great influ- 
ence on my own mind, as I acquired it with the most perfect ease, — so much 
so, that I have no recollection whatever of learning the alphabet ; but, to 
the astonishment of the family, one day, when a book was shown me, to 
keep me from crying, I began spelling the names of different objects. This 
was a source of wonder to all in the neighborhood, particularly the black' 
— and this learning was constantly improved at all opportunities. W^<- 
got large enough to go to work, while employed I was reflecting on n. 
things that would present themselves to my imagination ; and whenev v 
an opportunity occurred of looking at a book, when the school-children 
were getting their lessons, I would find many things that the fertility of my 
own imagination had depicted to me before. All my time, not devoted to 
my master’s servioe, was spent either in prayer, or in making experiments 


APPENDIX. 


841 


in casting different things in moulds made of earth, in attempting to make 
paper, gunpowder, and many other experiments, that, although I could not 
perfect, yet convinced me of its practicability if I had the means.* 

“ I was not addicted to stealing in my youth, nor have ever been ; yet 
such was the confidence of the negroes in the neighborhood, even at this 
early period of my life, in my superior judgment, that they would often 
carry me with them when they were going on any roguery, to plan foi 
them. Growing up among them with this confidence in my superior judg- 
ment, and when this, in their opinions, was perfected by Divine inspiration, 
from the circumstances already alluded to in my infancy, and which belief 
was ever afterwards zealously inculcated by the austerity of my life and 
manners, which became the subject of remark by white and black ; having 
goon discovered to be great, I must appear so, and therefore studiously 
avoided mixing in society, and wrapped myself in mystery, devoting my 
time to fasting and prayer. 

“ By this time, having arrived to man’s estate, and hearing the Scrip- 
tures commented on at meetings, I was struck with that particular passage 
whioh says, * Seek ye the kingdom of heaven, and all things shall be 
added unto you. ’ I reflected much on this passage, and prayed daily for 
light on this subject. As I was praying one day at my plough, the Spirit 
spoke to me, saying, * Seek ye the kingdom of heaven, and all things shall 
be added unto you.’ Question. ‘What do you mean by the Spirit?’ 
Answer. * The Spirit that spoke to the prophets in former days,’ — and I 
was greatly astonished, and for two years prayed continually, whenever my 
duty would permit ; and then again I had the same revelation, which 
fully confirmed me in the impression that I was ordained for some great 
purpose in the hands of the Almighty. Several years rolled round, in 
which many events occurred to strengthen me in this my belief. At this 
time I reverted in my mind to the remarks made of me in my childhood, 
and the things that had been shown me ; and as it had been said of me in 
my childhood, by those by whom I had been taught to pray, both white and 
black, and in whom I had the greatest confidence, that I had too much 
sense to be raised, and if I was I would never be of any use to any one as a 
slave ; now, finding I had arrived to man’s estate, and was a slave, and 
these revelations being made known to me, I began to direct my attention 
to this great object, to fulfil the purpose for which, by this time, I felt 
assured I was intended. Knowing the influence I had obtained over the 
minds of my fellow-servants — (not by the means of conjuring and such-like 
tricks — for to them I always spoke of such things with contempt), but by 
the communion of the Spirit, whose revelations I often communicated to 
them, and they believed and said my wisdom came from God, — I now began to 

* When questioned as to the manner of manufacturing those different articles, be was 
found well informed. 

. . 7 . 


342 


APPENDIX. 


prepare them for my purpose, by telling them something was about to hap- 
pen that would terminate in fulfilling the great promise that had been 
made to me 

“ About this time I was placed under an overseer, from whom. I ran away, 
and. after remaining in the woods thirty days, I returned, to the astonish- 
ment of the negroes on the plantation, who thought I had made my escape 
to some other part of the country, as my father had done before. But the 
reason of my return was, that the Spirit appeared to me and said I had my 
wishes directed to the things of this world, and not to the kingdom of 
heaven, and that I should return to the service of my earthly master — 
‘ For he who knoweth his Master’s will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten 
with many stripes, and thus have I chastened you.’ And the negroes 
found fault, and murmured against me, saying that if they had my sense 
they would not serve any master in the world. And about this tkno I had 
a vision — and I saw white spirits and black spirits engaged in battle, and. 
the sun was darkened — the thunder rolled in the heavens, and blood 
flowed in streams — and I heard a voice saying, ‘Such is your luck, such 
you are called to see ; and let it come rough or smooth, you must surely 
bear it.’ 

“I now withdrew myself as much as my situation would permit from 
the intercourse of my fellow-servants, for the avowed purpose of serving 
tin Spirit more fully ; and it appeared to me, and reminded me of the 
things it had already shown me, and that it would then reveal to me the 
knowledge of the elements, the revolution of the planets, the operation of 
tides, and changes of the seasons. After this revelation in the year 1825, 
and the knowledge of the elements being made known to me, I sought more 
than ever to obtain true holiness before the great day of judgment should 
appear, and then I began to receive the true knowledge of faith. And from 
the first steps of righteousness until the last, was I made perfect ; and the 
Holy Ghost was with me, and said, * Behold me as I stand in the heavens.* 
And I looked and saw the forms of men in different attitudes ; and there 
were lights in the sky, to which the children of darkness gave other names 
than what they really were; for they were the lights of the Saviour’s hands, 
stretched forth from east to west, even as they were extended on the cross 
on Calvary for the redemption of sinners. And I wondered greatly at these 
miracles, and prayed to be informed of a certainty of the meaning thereof ; 
and shortly afterwards, while laboring in the field, I discovered drops of 
blood on the corn, as though it were dew from heaven ; and I com muni 
cated it to many, both white and black, in the neighborhood — .and I then 
found on the leaves in the woods hieroglyphic characters and numbers, 
with the forms of men in different attitudes, portrayed in blood, and repre- 
senting the figures I had seen before in the heavens. And now the Holy 
Ghost had revealed itself to me, and made plain the miracles it had shown 
me ; for as the blood of Christ had been shed on this earth, and had 


APPENDIX. 


343 


ascended .0 heaven for the salvation of sinners, and was now returning to 
earth again in the form of dew, — and as the leaves on the trees bore the 
impression of the figures I had seen in the heavens, — it was plain to me 
that the Saviour was about to lay down the yoke he had borne for the sina 
of men, and the great day of judgment was at hand. 

“ About this time I told these things to a white man (Etheldred T. Brant- 
ley ) , on whom it had a wonderful effect ; and he ceased from his wicked- 
ness, and was attacked immediately with a outaneous eruption, and blood 
oozed from the pores of his skin, and after praying and fasting nine days 
he was healed. And the Spirit appeared to me again, and said, as the 
Saviour had been baptized, so should we be also ; and when the white peo- 
ple would not let us be baptized by the church, we went down into the water 
together, in the sight of many who reviled us, and were baptized by the 
Spirit. After this I rejoiced greatly, and gave thanks to God. And on the 
12th of May, 1828, I heard a loud noise in the heavens, and the Spirit 
instantly appeared to me and said the Serpent was loosened, and Christ 
had laid down the yoke he had borne for the sins of men, and that I should 
take it on and fight against the Serpent, for the time was fast approaching 
when the first should be last and the last should be first. Ques. * Do you 
not find yourself mistaken now ? ’ — Ans. * Was not Christ crucified ? ’ And 
by signs in the heavens that it would make known to me when I should 
commence the great work, and until the first sign appeared I should con- 
ceal it from the knowledge of men ; and on the appearance of the sign 
(the eclipse of the sun, last February), I should arise and prepare myself, 
and slay my enemies with their own weapons. And immediately on the 
sign appearing in the heavens, the seal was removed from my lips, and I 
communicated the great work laid out for me to do, to four in whom I had 
the greatest confidence (Henry, Hark, Nelson, and Sam). It was intended 
by us to have begun the work of death on the 4th of July last. Many 
were the plans formed and rejected by us, and it affected my mind to such 
a degree that I fell sick, and the time passed without our coming to any 
determination how to commence — still forming new schemes and rejecting 
them, when the sign appeared again, which determined me not to wait 
longer. 

“ Since the commencement of 1830 I had been living with Mr Joseph 
Travis, who was to me a kind master, and placed the greatest confidence 
in me ; in fact, I had no cause to complain of his treatment to me. On 
Saturday evening, the 20th of August, it was agreed between Henry, 
Hark, and myself, to prepare a dinner the next day for the men we ex- 
pected, and then to concert a plan, as we had not yet determined on any. 
Hark, on the following morning, brought a pig, and Henry brandy ; and 
being joined by Sam, Nelson, Will, and Jack, they prepared in the woods a 
dinner, where, about three o’clock, I joined them.” 

“ Q. Why were you so backward in joining them?” 


344 


APPENDIX. 


“ A. The same reason that had caused me not to mix with them fbi 
years before. 

«« X saluted them on coming up, and asked Will how came he there. 
He answered, his life was worth no more than others, and his liberty as 
dear to him. I asked him if he thought to obtain it. He said he would, 
or lose his life. This was enough to put him in full confidence. Jack, I 
knew, was only a tool in the hands of Hark. It was quickly agreed we 
should commence a home (Mr. J. Travis’) on that night ; and until we had 
armed and equipped ourselves, and gathered sufficient force, neither age 
nor sex was to be spared — which was invariably adhered to. We remained 
at the feast until about two hours in the night, when we went to the house 
and found Austin.” 

We will not go into the horrible details of the various massacres, 
but only make one or two extracts, to show the spirit and feelings of 
Turner : 

^ I then went to Mr. John T. Harrow’s ; they had been here and mur- 
dered him. I pursued on their track to Capt. Newit Harris’, where I found 
the greater part mounted and ready to start. The men, now amounting to 
about forty, shotted and hurraed as I rode up. Some were in the yard, load- 
ing their guns ; others drinking. They said Captain Harris and bis family 
had escaped ; the property in the house they destroyed,- robbing him of 
money and other valuables. I ordered them to mount and march 
instantly ; this was about nine or ten o’clock, Monday morning. I pro- 
ceeded to Mr. Levi Waller’s, two or three miles distant. I took my station 
in the rear, and, as it was my object to carry terror and devastation where- 
ever we went, I placed fifteen or twenty of the best armed and most to be 
relied on in front, who generally approached the houses as fast as their 
horses could run. This was for two purposes — to prevent their escape, and 
strike terror to the inhabitants ; on this account I never got to the houses, 
after leaving Mrs. Whitehead’s, until the murders were committed, except 
in one case. I sometimes got in sight in time to see the work of death 
completed ; viewed the mangled bodies as they lay, in sileut satisfaction, and 
immediately started in quest of other victims. Having murdered Mrs. 
Waller and ten children, we started for Mr. Wm. Williams’, — having killed 
him and two little boys that were there ; while engaged in this, Mrs. Wil- 
liams fled and got some distance from the house, but she was pursued, 
overtaken, and compelled to get up behind one of the company, who 
brought her back, and, after showing her the mangled body of her life- 
less husband, she was told to get down and lay by his side, where she was 
shot dead. 

“ The white men pursued and fired on us several times. Hark had his 
norse shot under him, and I caught another for him as it was running by 
me ; five or six of my men were wounded, but none left on the field. Find- 
ing myself defeated here, I instantly determined to go through a private 


APPENDIX. 


345 


way, and cross the Nottoway River at the Cypress Bridge, three miles 
below Jerusalem, and attack that place in the rear, as I expected they 
would look for me on the other road, and I had a great desire to get there 
to procure arms and ammunition. After going a short distance in this 
private way, accompanied by about twenty men, I overtook two or three, 
who told me the others were dispersed in every direction. 

“ On this, I gave up all hope for the present ; and on Thursday night, 
after having supplied myself with provisions from Mr. Travis’, I 
scratched a hole under a pile of fence-rails in a field, where I concealed 
myself for six weeks, never leaving my hiding-place but for a few minutes 
in the dead of the night to get water, which was very near. Thinking by 
this time I could venture out, I began to go about in the night, and eaves- 
drop the houses in the neighborhood ; pursuing this course for about a 
fortnight, and gathering little or no intelligence, afraid of speaking to any 
human being, and returning every morning to my cave before the dawn of 
day. I know not how long I might have led this life, if accident* had not 
betrayed me. A dog in the neighborhood passing by my hiding-place one 
night while I was out, was attracted by some meat I had in my cave, and 
crawled in and stole it, and was coming out just as I returned. A few nights 
after, two negroes having started to go hunting with the same dog, and 
passed that way, the dog came again to the place, and having just gone 
out to walk about, discovered me and barked ; on which, thinking myself 
discovered, I spoke to them to beg concealment. On making myself known, 
they fled from me. Knowing then they would betray me, I immediately 
left my hiding-place, and was pursued almost incessantly, until 1 was taken, 
a fortnight afterwards, by Mr. Benjamin Phipps, in a little hole I had dug 
out with my sword, for the purpose of concealment, under the top of a fallen 
tree. 

“ During the time I was pursued, I had many hair-breadth escapes, which 
your time will not permit you to relate. I am here loaded with chains, and 
willing to suffer the fate that awaits me.” 

Mr. Gray asked him if he knew of finy extensive or concerted plan. His 
answer was, I do not. When I questioned him as to the insurrection in 
North Carolina ha] gening about the same time, he denied any knowledge 
of it ; and when I looked him in the face, as though I would search his in- 
most thoughts, he replied, “ I see, sir, you doubt my word ; but can you 
not think the same ideas, and strange appearances about this time in the 
lwavens, might prompt others, as well as myself, to this undertaking ? ” I 
liv/w had much conversation with and asked him many questions, having 
forborne to do so pvwtptrsly exnnp* in the cases noted in parenthesis ; but 
during his statement, haa, unnoticed by him, taken notes as to some par- 
ticular circumstances, and, having the advantage of his statement before me 
in writing, on the evening of the third day that I had been with him, I 
began a cross-examination, and found his statement corroborated by every 


346 


APPENDIX. 


circumstance coming within my own knowledge, or the confessions of ethers 
who had been either killed or executed, and whom he had not seen or had 
any knowledge of since the 22d of August last. He expressed himself fully 
satisfied as to the impracticability or his attempt. It has been said he was 
ignorant and cowardly, and that his object was to murder and rob for the 
purpose of obtaining money to make his escape. It is notorious that he 
was never known to have a dollar in his life, to swear an oath, or drink a 
drop of spirits. As to his ignorance, he certainly never had the advantages 
of education, but he can read and write (it was taught him by his parents), 
and for natural intelligence and quickness of apprehension is surpassed by 
few men I have ever seen. As to his being a coward, his reason as given 
for not resisting Mr. Phipps shows the decision of his character. When lit 
saw Mr. Phipps present his gun, he said he knew it was impossible for him 
to escape, as the woods were full of men ; he therefore thought it was bettei 
to surrender, and trust to fortune for his escape. He is a complete fanatic, 
or plays his part most admirably. On other subjects he possesses an un 
common share of intelligence, with a mind capable of attaining anything, 
but warped and perverted by the influence of early impressions. He is 
below the ordinary stature, though strong and active, having the true negro 
face, every feature of which is strongly marked. I shall not attempt to de- 
scribe the effect of his narrative, as told and commented on by himself, in 
the condemned hole of the prison. The calm, deliberate composure with 
which he spoke of his late deeds and intentions ; the expression of his fiend- 
like face when excited by enthusiasm, still bearing the stains of the blood 
of helpless innocence about him ; clothed with rags and covered with chains, 
yet daring to raise his manacled hands to heaven, with a spirit soaring 
»#bove the attributes of man. I looked on him, and my blood curdled in 
wy veins. 


APPENDIX. 


347 


APPENDIX II. 


Tub; chapter headed Je.gar Sahadutha contains some terrible stories. It 
is to be said, they are all facts on judicial record, of the most fiend-like cru- 
elty, terminating iD the death of the victim, where the affair has been judi- 
cially examined, and the perpetrator escaped death, and in most cases any 
punishment for his crime. 

1. Case of Souther. 

“ Souther v. The Commomvealth. 7 Grattan , 673, 1851. 

“ The killing of a slave by his master and ovmer, by wilful and excessive whipping, is no 
der in the first degree : though it may not have been the purpose and intention of tb , 
master and owner to kill the slave. 

“ Simon Souther was indicted at the October term, 1850, of the Circuit 
Court for the County of Hanover, for the murder of his own slave. The 
indictment contained fifteen counts, in which the various inodes of punish- 
ment and torture by which the homicide was charged to have been com- 
mitted were stated singly, and in various combinations. The fifteenth 
count unites them all : and, as the court certifies that the ind- Ament was 
sustained by the evidence , the giving the facts stated in that count will 
show what was the charge against the prisoner, and what was the proof to 
sustain it. 

“ The - count charged that on the 1st day of September, 1849, the prisoner 
tied his negro slave, Sam, with ropes about his wrists, neck, body, legs, and 
ankles, to a tree. That whilst so tied, the prisoner first whipped the slave 
with switches. That he next beat and ccbbed the slave with a shingle, and 
compelled two of his slaves, a man and a wof/mn, also to cob the deceased 
with the shingle. That whilst the deceasjd was so tied to the tree, the 
prisoner did strike, knock, kick, stamp, and beat him upon various parts 
of his head, face, and body ; that he applied fire to his body ;*'*** that 
he then washed his body with warm wate.r, in which pods of red pepper had 
been put and steeped ; and he compelled his two slaves aforesaid also to 
wash him with this same preparation of varm water and reel pepper. That 
after the tying, whipping, cobbing, striking, boating, knocking, kicking, 
stamping, wounding, bruising, lacerating, bimiing, washing# and tortur- 
ing, as aforesaid, the prisoner untied the deceased from fchi tree in such a 
way as to throw him with violence to the ground ; and he then and *iere 
did knock, kick, stamp, and beat the deceased upon his head, temples, and 
various parts of his body. That the prisoner then had the deceased carried 
into a shed-room of his house, and there he compelled one of his slaves, in 
his presence, to confine the deceased’s feet in stocks, by making his legs fast 
II 30 


348 


APPENDIX. 


to a piece of timber, and to tie a rope aVout the neck of the deceased, and 
fasten it to a bed-post in the room, thereby strangling, choking, and suffo- 
cating, the deceased. And that whilst the deceased was thus made fast in 
stocks, as aforesaid, the prisoner did kick, kuock, stamp, and beat him upon 
his head, face, breast, belly, sides, back, and body ; and he again compelled 
his two slaves to apply fire to the body of the deceased, whilst he was so made 
fast as aforesaid. And the count charged that from these various modes of 
punishment and torture, the sla ve Sam then aud there died. It appeared that 
the prisoner commenced the punishment of the deceased in the morning, and 
that it was continued throughout the day ; and that the deceased died in the 
presence of the prisoner, and one of his slaves, and one of the witnesses, 
whilst the punishment was still progressing. 

“ Field J. delivered the opinion of the court. 

“ The prisoner was indicted and convicted of murder in the second degree , 
in the Circuit Court of Hanover, at its April term last past, and was sen- 
tenced to the penitentiary for five years , the period of time ascertained by 
the jury. The murder consisted in the killing of a negro man-slave by the 
name of Sam, the property of the prisoner, by cruel and excessive whipping 
and torture, inflicted by Souther, aided by two of his other slaves, on the 
1st day of September, 1849. The prisoner moved for a new trial, upon the 
ground that the offence, if any, amounted only to manslaughter. The mo- 
tion for a i?ew trial was overruled, and a bill of exceptions taken to the 
opinion of the court, setting forth the facts proved, or as many of them as 
were deemed material fbr the consideration of the application for a new 
trial. The bill of exception states : That the slave Sam, in the indictment 
mentioned, was the slave and property of the prisoner. That for the pur- 
pose of chastising the slave for the offence of getting drunk, and dealing, as 
the slave confessed and alleged, with Henry and Stone, two of the witnesses 
for the Commonwealth, he caused him to be tied and punished in the pres- 
ence of the said witnesses, with the exception of slight whipping with peach 
or appie tree switches, before the said witnesses arrived at. the scene after 
they were sent for by the prisoner (who were present by request from the 
defendant), and of several slaves of the prisoner, in the manner and by the 
mc?in a wlivrgetl in the indiotment ; and the said slave died under and from 
the infliction of the said punishment, in the presence of the prisoner, one 
of his slate*, and of one of the witnesses for the Commonwealth. But it 
did not appear that it was the design of the prisoner to kill the said slave, 
unless such design be properly inferable from the manner, means, and dura- 
tion, of the punishment. And, on the contrary, it did appear that the pris- 
oner frequently declared, while tho said slave was undergoing the punish- 
ment, that he believed the said slave was feigning, and pretending to be suf- 
fering and injured when he was not. The judge certifies that the slave was 
punished in the manner and by tV means charged in the indictment The 


APPENDIX, 


349 


indictment contains fifteen counts, and sets forth a case of the most cruel 
and excessive whipping and torture. * * * * 

“ It is believed that the records of criminal jurisprudence do not con- 
tain a case of more atrocious and wicked cruelty than was presented upon 
the trial of Souther ; and yet it has been gravely and earnestly contended 
here by his counsel that his offence amounts to manslaughter only. 

“ It has been contended by the counsel of the prisoner that a man can- 
not be indicted and prosecuted for the cruel and excessive whipping of his 
own slave. That it is lawful for the master to chastise his slave, and that 
if death ensues from such chastisement, unless it was intended to produce 
death, it is like the case of homicide which is committed by a man in the 
performance of a lawful act, which is manslaughter only. It has been 
decided by this court in Turner’s case, 5 Rand, that the owner of a slave, 
for the malicious, cruel, and excessive beating of his own slave, cannot be 
indicted ; yet it by no means follows, when such malicious, cruel, and ex- 
cessive beating results in death, though not intended and premeditated, 
that the beating is to be regarded as lawful for the purpose of reducing the 
crime to manslaughter, when the whipping is inflicted for the sole purpose 
of chastisement. It is the policy of the law , in respect to the relation of 
master and slave , and for the sake of securing proper subordination and 
obedience on the pari of the slave, to protect the master from prosecu- 
tion in all such cases, even if the whipping and punishment be malicious , 
cruel, and excessive. Rut in so inflicting punishment for the sake of pun- 
ishment, the owner of the slave acts at his peril ; and if death ensues in 
consequence of such punishment, the relation of master and slave affords 
no ground of excuse or palliation. The principles of the common law, in 
relation to homicide, apply to his case without qualification or exception ; 
and, according to those principles, the act of the prisoner, in the case 
under consideration, amounted to murder. * * * The crime of the 

prisoner is not manslaughter, but murder in the first degree.” 

2. Death of Hark. 

The master is, as we have asserted, protected f rom prosecution by ex 
vress enactment, if the victim dies in the t act of resistance to his will , oi 
under moderate correction. 

“ Whereas by another Act of the Assembly, passed in 1774, the killing 
of a slave, however wanton, cruel, and deliberate, is only punishable in 
the first instance by imprisonment and paying the value thereof to the 
owner, which distinction of criminality between the murder of a white per- 
son and one who is equally a human creature, but merely of a different 
complexion, is disgraceful fo humanity, and degrading in the high- 
est DEGREE TO THE LAWS AND PRINCIPLES OF A FREE, CHRISTIAN, AND 

enlightened codntry, Be it enacted, &o., That if any person shall here- 


350 


APPENDIX. 


after be guilty of wilfully and maliciously killing a slave, such offender 
shall, upon the first conviction thereof, be adjudged guilty of murder, and - 
shall suffer the same punishment as if he had killed a free man : Provided 
always , this act shall not extend to the person killing a slave outlawed by 
virtue or an* Act of Assembly of tuis state, or to any slave in the 
act of resistance to his lawful owner or master , or to any slave dying 
under moderate correction .” 

Instance in point ; — 

“ From the * JVational Era,* Washington, .November 6, 1851. 

“HOMICIDE CASE IN CLARKE COUNTY, VIRGINIA. 

“ Some time since, the newspapers of Virginia contained an account of 
a horrible tragedy, enacted in Clarke County, of that state. A slave of 
Colonel James Castleman, it was stated, had been chained by the neck, and 
whipped to death by his master, on the charge of stealing. The whole 
neighborhood in which the transaction occurred was incensed ; the Vir- 
ginia papers abounded in denunciations of t}ie cruel act ; and the people 
of the North were called upon to bear witness to the justice which would 
surely be meted out in a slave state to the master of a slave. We did not 
publish the account. The case was horrible ; it was, we were confident, 
exceptional. It should not be taken as evidence of the general treatment 
of slaves. We chose to delay any notice of it till the courts should pro- 
nounce their judgment, and we could announce at once the crime and its 
punishment, so that the state might stand acquitted of the foul deed. 

“ Those who were so shocked at the transaction will be surprised and 
mortified to hear that the actors in it have been tried and acquitted ! and 
when they read the following account of the trial and verdict, published at 
the instance of the friends of the aocused, their mortification will deepen 
into bitter indignation. 

“ From the * Spirit of Jefferson .’ 

“‘Colonel James Castleman. — The following statement, understood 
to have been drawn up by counsel, since the trial, has been placed by the 
friends of this gentleman in our hands for publication : 

“ * At the Circuit Superior Court of Clarke County, commencing on the 
13th of October, Judge Samuels presiding, James Castleman and his son 
Stephen D. Castleman were indicted jointly for the murder of negro Lewis, 
property of the latter. By advice of their counsel, the parties elected to be 
tried separately, and the attorney for the Commonwealth directed that James 
Castleman should be tried first. 

“ * It was proved, on this trial, that for many months previous to the oc- 
currence the money-drawer of the tavern kept by Stephen D. Castleman, 
and the liquors kept in large quantities in his cellar, had been pillaged 


appe : 


351 


from time to time, until the thefts had attained to a considerable amount. 
Suspicion had, from various causes, been directed to Lewis, and another 
negro, named Reuben (a blacksmith), the property of James Castleman , 
but, by the aid of two of the house-servants, they had eluded the most vigi- 
lant watch. 

“ ‘ On the 20th of August last, in the afternoon, S. D. Castleman acci- 
dentally discovered a clue, by means of which, and through one of the 
house-servants implicated, he was enabled fully to detect the depredators, 
and to ascertain the manner in which the theft had been committed. He 
immediately sent for his father, living near him, and, after communicating 
what he had discovered, it was determined that the offenders should be 
punished at once, and before they should know of the discovery that had 
been made. 

“ ‘ Lewis was punished first ; and in a manner, as was fully shown, to 
preclude all risk of injury to his person, by stripes with a broad leathern 
strap. He was punished severely, but to an extent by no means dispro- 
portionate to his offence ; nor was it pretended, in any quarter, that this 
punishment implicated either his life or health. He confessed the offence, 
and admitted that it had been effected by false keys, furnished by the black- 
smith, Reuben. 

“ ‘ The latter servant was punished immediately afterwards. It was be- 
lieved that he was the principal offender, and he was found to be more obdu- 
rate and contumacious than Lewis had been in reference to the offence. 
Thus it was proved, both by the prosecution and the defence, that he was 
punished with greater severity than his accomplice. It resulted in a like 
confession on his part, and he produced the false key, one fashioned by 
himself, by which the tTieft had been effected. 

‘“It was further shown, on the trial, that Lewis was whipped in the 
upper room of a warehouse, connected with Stephen Castleman’s store, and 
near the public road, where he was at work at the time ; that after he had 
been flogged, to secure his person, whilst they went after Reuben, he was 
confined by a chain around his neck, which was attached to a joist above 
his head. The length of this chain, the breadth and thickncts of the joist, 
its height from the floor, and the circlet of chain on the neck, were accu- 
rately measured ; and it was thus shown that the chain unocoupied by the 
circlet and the joist was a foot and a half longer than fche spare between 
the shoulders of the man and the joist above, or to that extent the chain 
hung loose above him ; that the circlet (which was fastened so as to prevent 
its contraction) rested on the shoulders and breast, the chain being suih 
ciently drawn only to prevent being slipped over his head, and that there 
was no other place in the room tio which he could be fastened except to one 
of the joists above. His hands were tied in front ; a white man, who had 
been at work with Lewis during the day, was left with him by the Messrs. 
Castleman, the better to insure his detention, whilst they were absent 

30 * 


II 


352 


A?“LNDiX. 


Reuben. It was proved by this man (who was a witness for the prosecu 
tion) that Lewis asked for a box to stand on, or for something that he could 
jump off from ; that after the Castlemans had left him he expressed a fear 
that when they came back he would be whipped again ; and said, if he had 
a knife, and could get one hand loose, he would cut his throat. The wit- 
ness stated that the negro “ stood firm on his feet,” that he could turn freely 
in whatever direction he wished, and that he made no complaint of the mode 
of his confinement. This man stated that he remained with Lewis about half 
an hour, and then left there to go home. 

“ ‘ After punishing Reuben, the Castlemans returned to the warehouse, 
bringing him with them ; their object being to confront the two men, in the 
hope that by further examination of them jointly all their accomplices might 
be detected. 

“ « They were not absent more than half an hour. When they entered the 
room above, Lewis was found hanging by the neck, his feet thrown behind 
him, his knees a few inches from the floor, and his head thrown forward, — 
the body warm and supple (or relaxed), but life was extinct. 

** * It was proved by the surgeons who made a post-mortem examination 
before the coroner’s inquest that the death was caused by strangulation by 
hanging; and other eminent surgeons were examined to show, from the 
appearance of the brain and its blood-vessels after death (as exhibited at 
the post-mortem examination), that the subject could not have fainted 
before strangulation. 

“ * After the evidence was finished on both sides, the jury, from their 
box, and of their own motion, without a word from counsel on either side, 
informed the court that they had agreed upon their verdict. The counsel 
assented to its being thus received, and a verdict of “ Not guilty ” was 
immediately rendered. The attorney for the commonwealth then informed 
the court that all the evidence for the prosecution had been laid before the 
jury ; and, as no new evidence could be offered on the trial of Stephen D. 
Castleraan, be submitted to the court the propriety of entering a nolle 
prosequi. The judge replied that the case had been fully and fairly laid 
before the jury upon the evidence ; that the court was not only satisfied 
with the verdict, but, if any other had been rendered, it must have been 
set aside ; and that, if no further evidence was to be adduced on the trial 
Of Stephen, the attorney for che commonwealth would exercise a proper dis- 
cretion in entering a nolle pfosequi as to him, and the court would 
approve its being done. A nolle prosequi was entered accordingly, and 
both gentlemen discharged. 

“ * It may be added that two days were consumed in exhibiting the 
evidence, and that the trial was by a jury of Clark County. Both the 
parties had been on bail from the time of their arrest, and were continued 
on kail whilst the trial was depending.’ 

* ‘ Let us admit that the evidence does not prove the legal crime of homi- 


APPENDIX. 


353 


oide : what candid man can doubt, after reading this ex parte, version of it. 
that the slave died in consequence of the punishment inflicted upon him ? 

“In criminal prosecutions the federal constitution guarantees to the 
accused the right to a public trial by an impartial jury ; the right to be 
informed of the nature and cause of the accusation ; to be confronted with 
the witnesses against him ; to have compulsory process for obtaining witness 
in his favor ; and to have the assistance of counsel ; guarantees necessary 
to secure innocence against hasty or vindictive judgment, — absolutely 
necessary to prevent injustice. Grant that they were not intended for 
slaves ; every master of a slave must feel that they are still morally binding 
upon him. He is the sole judge ; he alone determines the offence, the 
proof requisite to establish it, and the amount of the punishment. The 
slave, then, has a peculiar claim upon him for justice. When charged with 
a crime, common humanity requires that he should be informed of it, that 
he should be confronted with the witnesses against him, that he should be 
permitted to show evidence in favor of his innocence. 

“ But how was poor Lewis treated ? The son of Castleman said he had 
discovered who stole the money ; and it was forthwith * determined that the 
offenders should be punished at once, and before they should know of the 
discovery that had been made .’ Punished without a hearing ! Punished 
on the testimony of a house-servant, the nature of which does not appear to 
have been inquired into by the court ! Not a word is said which authorizes 
the belief that any careful examination was made, as it respects their guilt. 
Lewis and Reuben were assumed, on loose evidence, without deliberate 
investigation, to be guilty ; and then, without allowing them to attempt to 
show their evidence, they were whipped until a confession of guilt was 
extorted by bodily pain. 

“ Is this Virginia justice ? ” 

“ ‘To the Editor of the Era t 

“ * I see that Castleman, who lately hac' a trial for whipping a slave to 
death in Virginia, was “ triumphantly acquitted — as many expected. 
There are three persons in this city, with whom I am acquainted, who staid 
at Castleman’s the same night in which this awful tragedy was enacted. 
They heard the dreadful lashing, and the heartrending screams and 
entreaties of the sufferer. They implored the only white man they oould 
find on the premises, not engaged in the bloody work, to interpose, but for 
a long time he refused, on the ground that he was a dependant, and was 
afraid to give offence ; and that, moreover, they had been drinking, and ha 
was in fear for his own life, should he say a word that would be displeasing 
to them. He did, however, venture, and returned and reported the cruel 
manner in which the slaves were chained, and lashed, and secured in a 
blacksmith’s vice. In the morning, when they ascertained that one of the 
slaves was dead, they were so shocked and indignant that they refused to 


354 


APPENDIX. 


eat in the house, and reproached Castleman with his cruelty. He expressed 
his regret that the slave had died, and especially as he had ascertained that 
he was innocent of the accusation for which he had suffered. The idea was 
that he had fainted from exhaustion ; and, the chain being round his neck, 
he was strangled. The persons I refer to are themselves slaveholders ; 
but their feelings were so harrowed and lacerated that they could not sleep 
(two of them are ladies), and for many nights afterwards their rest was 
disturbed, and their dreams made frightful, by the appalling recollection. 

“ ‘ These persons would have been material witnesses, and would have 
willingly attended on the part of the prosecution. The knowledge they had 
of the case was communicated to the proper authorities, yet their attendance 
was not required. The only witness was that dependant who considered 
his own life in danger. Yours, &c., J. F. ’ 

The Law of Outlawry. 

Revised Statutes of North Carolina, chap, cxi., sect. 22 : 

“ ‘Whereas, many times slaves runaway and lie out, hid and lurking in 
swamps, woods, and other obscure places, killing cattle and hogs, and commit- 
ting other injuries to the inhabitants of this state ; in all such cases, upon 
intelligence of any slave or slaves lying out as aforesaid, any two justices of the 
peace for the county wherein such slave or slaves is or are supposed to lurk 
or do mischief, shall, and they are hereby empowered and required to issue 
proclamation against such slave or slaves (reciting his or their name?,, 
and the name or names of the owner or owners, if known), thereby 
requiring him or them, and every of them, forthwith to surrender him or 
themselves ; and also to empower and require the sheriff of the said county 
to take such power with him as he shall think fit and necessary for going 
in search and pursuit of, and effectually apprehending, such outlying 
slave or slaves ; which proclamation shall be published at the door of the 
court-house, and at such other places as said justices shall direct. And if 
way slave or slaves, against wriom proclamation hath been thus issued, stay 
out, awl do not immediately return home, it shall be lawful for any person 
or persons whatsoever to kill and destroy such slave or slaves by such ways 
and mans as he shall think fit, without accusation or ’"mneachmeut of any 
rime for the same.’ 

“‘State op North Carolina, Lenoir County. — Whereas complaint 
hath been {his day made to us, two of the justices of the peace for the said 
county, by William D. Cobb, df Jones County, that two negro slaves 
belonging to him, named Ben (commonly known by the name of Ben Fox) 
and Higdon, have absented themselves from their said master’s service, and 
are lurking about in the Counties of Lenoir and Jones, committing acts of 
felony ; these are, in the name of the state, to command the said slaves 
forthwith to surrender themselves, and turn home to their said master. 


APPENDIX. 


355 


And we do hereby also require the sheriff of said County of Lenoir to make 
diligent search and pursuit after the above-mentioned slaves. . . . And 

we do hereby, by virtue of an act of assembly of this state concerning 
servants and slaves, intimate and declare, if the said slaves do not surren- 
der themselves and return home to their master immediately after the 
publication of these presents, that any person may kill or destroy said slaves 
by such means as he or they think fit, without accusation or impeachment 
of any crime or offence for so doing, or without incurring any penalty of 
forfeiture thereby. 

“ « Given under our hands and seals, this 12th of November, 1836. 

"‘B. Coleman, J. P. [<SeaZ.] 

“ ‘ Jas. Jones, J. P.’ [ Seal ] 


“ * $200 Reward. — Ran away from the subscriber, about three years 
ago, a certain negro nuiu, named Ben, commonly known by the name of 
Ben Fox ; also one other negro, by the name of Rigdon, who ran away on 
the eighth of this mouth. 

“ ‘ I will give the reward of one hundred dollars for each of the above 
negroes, to be delivered to me, or confined in the jail of Lenoir or Jones 
County, or for the killing of them , so that I can see them . 

“ ‘ November 12, 1836. W. D. Cobb.’ 

** That this act was not a dead letter, also, was plainly implied in the 
protective act first quoted. If slaves were not, as a matter of fact, ever 
outlawed, why does the act formally recognize such a class ? — * provided 
that this act shall not extend to the killing of any slave outlawed by any 
act of the assembly.’ This language sufficiently indicates the existence of 
the custom. 

“ Further than this, the statute-book of 1821 contained two acts : the 
first of which provides that all masters, in certain counties, who have had 
slaves killed in consequence of outlawry, shall have a claim on the treasury 
of the state for their value, unless cruel treatment of the slave be proved on 
the part of the master ; the second act extends the benefits of the latter 
provision to all the counties in the state. 

“ Finally there is evidence that this act of outlawry was executed so 
recently as the year 1850, — the year in which * Uncle Tom’s Cabin ’ was 
written. See the following from the Wilmington Journal of December 
13, 1850. 

* State of North Carolina, New ILlkoyer Cousrrr. — * VT&reas 
complaint, upon oath, hath this day boon made to us, two of the justices 
of the peace for the said rtate and county aforesaid, by Guilford Horn, of 
Edgecombe County, that a oortain male slave .•evoujfmg to him, named 
Harry, a carpenter by trade, about r\, yea re -jai.ftve feet five inohes 
high, or thereabouts yellow coap’ex ,.-i ; stout built ; with a scar on his 


356 


APPENDIX. 


left leg (from the cut of an axe) ; has very thick lips , eyes deep sunk in 
his head ; forehead very square ; tolerably loud voice ; has lost one or two 
of his upper teeth ; and has a very dark spot on his jaw, supposed to be a 
mark, — hath absented himself from his master’s service, and is supposed 
to be lurking about in this county, committing acts of felony or other mis- 
deeds ; these are, therefore, in the name of state aforesaid, to oommand 
the said slave forthwith to surrender himself and return home to his said 
master ; and we do hereby, by virtue of the act of assembly in such cases 
made and provided, intimate and declare that if the said slave Harry doth 
not surrender himself and return home immediately after the publication 
of these presents, that any person or persons may kill and destroy the 
said slave by such means as he or they may think fit, without accusation 
or impeachment of any crime or offence in so doing, and without incurring 
any penalty or forfeiture thereby. 

“ * Given under our hands and seals, this 29th day of June, 1850. 

“ * James T. Miller, J. P. [Seal.] 

W. C. Bettencourt, J. P.’ [ Seal .] 


“ * One Hundred and Twenty-five Dollars Reward will be paid for 
the delivery of the said Harry to me at Tosnott Depot, Edgecombe County, 
or for his confinement in any jail in the state, so that I can get him ; or 
One Hundred and Fifty Dollars will be given for his head. 

“ * He was lately heard from in Newbern, where he called himself Henry 
Barnes (or Burns), and will be likely to continue the same name, or 
assume that of Copage or Farmer. He has a free mulatto woman for a 
wife, by the name of Sally Bozeman, who has lately removed to Wilming- 
ton, and lives in that part of the town called Texas, where he will likely be 
lurking. 

“ * Masters of vessels are particularly cautioned against harboring or 
concealing the said negro on board their vessels, as the full penalty of the 
law will be rigorously enforced. Guilford Horn. 

" « June 29 th, 1850.’ ” 

This last advertisement was cut by the author from the Wilmington 
Journal , December 18th, 1850, a paper published in Wilmington, North 
Carolina. 


APPENDIX. 


357 


APPENDIX III. 


CHURCH ACTION ON SLAVERY. 

In reference to this important subject, we present a few extracts from the 
first and second chapters of the fourth part of the “Key to Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin : ** 

Let us review the declarations that have been made in the Southern 
church, and see what principles have been established by them : 

1. That slavery is an innocent and lawful relation, as much as that of 
parent and child, husband and wife, or any other lawful relation of society. 
(Harmony Pres., S. C.) 

2. That it is consistent with the most fraternal regard for the good of the 
slave. (Charleston Union Pres., S. C.) 

3. That masters ought not to be disciplined for selling slaves without 
their consent. (New School Pres. Church, Petersburg, Va.) 

4. That the right to buy, sell, and hold men for purposes of gain, was 
given by express permission of God. (James Smylie and his Presbyteries.) 

5. That the laws which forbid the education of the slave are right, and 
meet the approbation of the reflecting part of the Christian community. 
(Ibid.) 

6. That the fact of slavery is not a question of morals at all, but is purely 
one of political economy. (Charleston Baptist Association.) 

7. The right of masters to dispose of the time of their slaves has been dis- 
tinctly recognized by the Creator of all things. (Ibid.) 

8. That slavery, as it exists in these United States, is not a moral evil. 
(Georgia Conference, Methodist.) 

9. That, without a new revelation from heaven, no man is entitled to pro- 
nounce slavery wrong. 

10. That the separation of sla ves by sale should be regarded as separation 
by death, and the parties allowed to marry again. (Shiloh Baptist Ass., 
and Savannah River Ass. ) 

I 

11. That the testimony of colored members of the churches shall not be 
taken against a white person. (Methodist Church.) 

In addition, it has been plainly avowed, by the expressed principles and 
practice of Christians of various denominations, that they regard it right 
and proper to put down all inquiry upon this subject by Lynch law. 

The Old School Presbyterian Church, in whose communion the greater 
part of the slaveholding Presbyterians of the South are found, has never 
felt called upon to discipline its members for upholding a system which de- 


358 


APPENDIX. 


nies legal marriage to all slaves. Yet this church was agitated to its very 
foundation by the discussion of a question of morals which an impartial 
observer would probably consider of far less magnitude, namely, whether a 
man might lawfully marry his deceased wife’s sister. For the time, all the 
strength and attention of the church seemed concentrated upon this import- 
ant subject. The trial went from Presbytery to Synod, and from Synod to 
General Assembly ; and ended with deposing a very respectable minister tor 
this crime. 

Rev. Robert J. Breckenridge, D.D., a member of the Old School Assem- 
bly, has thus described the state of the slave population as to their marriage 
relations : 

“ The system of slavery denies to a whole class of human beings the sa- 
credness of marriage and of home, compelling them to live in a state of 
concubinage ; for, in the eye of the law, no colored slave-man is the husband 
of any wife in particular, nor any slave-woman the wife of any husband in 
particular ; no slave-man is the father of any child in particular, and no 
slave-child is the child of any parent in particular.” 

Now, had this church considered the fact that three millions of men and 
women were, by the laws of the land, obliged to live in this manner, as of 
equally serious consequence, it is evident, from the ingenuity, argument, 
vehemence, Biblical research, and untiring zeal, which they bestowed on Mr 
McQueen’s trial, that they could have made a very strong case with regard 
to this also. 

The history of the united action of denominations which included churches 
both in the slave and free states is a melancholy exemplification, to a reflect- 
ing mind, of that gradual deterioration of the moral sense which results 
from admitting any compromise, however slight, with an acknowledged sin. 
The best minds in the world cannot bear such a familiarity without injury 
to the moral sense. The facts of the slave system and of the slave laws, 
when presented to disinterested judges in Europe, have excited a universal 
outburst of horror ; yet, in assemblies composed of the wisest and best cler- 
gymen of America, these things have been discussed from year to year, and 
yet brought no results that have, in the slightest degree, lessened the evil. 
The reason is this. A portion of the members of these bodies had pledged 
themselves to sustain the system, and peremptorily to refuse and put down 
all discussion of it ; and the other part of the body did not consider this 
stand so taken as being of sufficiently vital consequence to authorize separa- 
tion. 

Nobody will doubt that, had the Southern members taken such a stand 
against the divinity of our Lord, the division would have been immediate 
and unanimous ; but yet the Southern members do maintain the right to 
buy and sell, lease, hire, and mortgage, multitudes of men and women, 
whom, with the same breath, they declare to be members of their churches, 
and true Christians. The Bible declares of all such that they are the tern* 


APPENDIX. 


359 


pies of the Holy Ghost ; that they are the members of Christ’s body, of his 
flesh and bones. Is not the doctrine that men may lawfully sell the mem- 
bers of Christ, his body, his flesh and bones, for purposes of gain, as really 
a heresy as the denial of the divinity of Christ ? and is it not a dishonor to 
Him who is over all, God blessed forever, to tolerate this dreadful opinion, 
with its more dreadful consequences, while the smallest heresies concerning 
the imputation of Adam’s sin are pursued with eager vehemence ? If the his- 
tory of the action of all the bodies thus united can be traced downwards, 
we shall find that, by reason of this tolerance of an admitted sin, the anti- 
slavery testimony has every year grown weaker and weaker. If we look 
over the history of all denominations, we shall see that at first they used 
very stringent language with relation to slavery. This is particularly the 
case with the Methodist and Presbyterian bodies, and for that reason we 
select these two as examples. The Methodist Society, especially, as organ- 
ized by John Wesley, was an anti-slavery society, and the Book of Discipline 
contained the most positive statutes against slaveholding. The history of 
the successive resolutions of the Conference of this church is very striking. 
In 1780, before the church was regularly organized in the United States, 
they resolved as follows : 

“ The conference acknowledges that slavery is contrary to the laws of 
God, man, and nature, and hurtful to society ; contrary to the dictates of 
conscience and true religion ; and doing what we would not others should 
do unto us.” 

In 1784, when the church was fully organized, rules were adopted pre- 
scribing the times at which members who were already slaveholders should 
emancipate their slaves. These rules were succeeded by the following : 

“ Every person concerned, who will not comply with these rules, shall 
have liberty quietly to withdraw from our Society within the twelve months 
following the notice being given him, as aforesaid ; otherwise the assistants 
shall exclude him from the Society. 

“ No person holding slaves shall in future be admitted into the Society, 
or to the Lord’s Supper, till he previously comply with these rules concern- 
ing slavery. 

“ Those who buy, sell, or give slaves away, unless on purpose to free 
them, shall be expelled immediately.” 

In 1801 : 

“ We declare that we are more than ever convinced of the great' evil of 
African slavery, which still exists in these United States. 

“ Every member of the Society who sells a slave shall immediately, after 
full proof, be excluded from the Society, etc. 

“ The Annual Conferences are directed to draw up addresses for the grad- 
ual emancipation of the slaves, to the legislature. Proper committees shall 
be appointed by the Annual Conference, out of the most respectable of our 
friends, for the conducting of the business ; and the presiding elders, dea- 

ii. 31 


360 


APPENDIX. 


cons, and travelling preachers, shall procure as many proper signatures as 
possible to the addresses, and give all the assistance in their power, in every 
respect, to aid the committees, and to further the blessed undertaking. Let 
this be continued from year to year, till the desired end be accomplished.” 

In 1836, let us notice the change. The General Conference held its annual 
session in Cincinnati, and resolved as follows : 

“ Resolved, by the delegates of the Annual Conferences in General Con- 
ference assembled, that they are decidedly opposed to modern abolitionism, 
and wholly disclaim any right, wish, or intention, to interfere in the civil 
and political relation between master and slave, as it exists in the slave- 
holding States of this Union.” 

These resolutions jvere passed by a very large majority. An address was 
received from the Wesleyan Methodist Conference in England, affectionately 
remonstrating on the subject of slavery. The Conference refused to publish 
it. In the pastoral address to the churches are these passages : 

“ It cannot be unknown to you that the question of slavery in the United 
States, by the constitutional compact which binds us together as a nation, is 
left to be regulated by the several State Legislatures themselves ; and thereby 
is put beyond the control of the general government, as well as that of all 
ecclesiastical bodies, it being manifest that in the slaveholding States them- 
selves the entire responsibility of its existence, or non-existence, rests with 
those State Legislatures. * * * * These facts, which are only men- 

tioned here as a reason for the friendly admonition which we wish to give 
you, constrain us, as your pastors, who are called to watch over your souls, 
as they must give account, to exhort you to abstain from all abolition 
movements and associations, and to refrain from patronizing any of their 
publications,” etc. ********* 

The subordinate conferences showed the same spirit. 

In 1836, the New York Annual Conference resolved that no one should 
->e elected a deacon or elder in the church unless he would give a pledge to 
the church that he would refrain from discussing this subject. * 

In 1838, the Conference resolved — 

“ As the sense of this Conference, that any of its members, or probation- 
ers, who shall patronize Zion's Watchman, either by writing in commenda- 
tion of its character, by circulating it, recommending it to our people, or 
procuring subscribers, or by collecting or remitting moneys, shall be deemed 
guilty of indiscretion, and dealt with accordingly.” 

It will be recollected that Zion's Watchman was edited by Le Roy 
Sunderland, for whose abduction the State of Alabama had offered fifty 
thousand dollars. 

In 1840, the General Conference at Baltimore passed the resolution that 
we have already quoted, forbidding preachers to allow colored persons to 

* This resolution is given in Birney’s pamphlet. 


APPENDIX. 


361 


give testimony in their churches. It has been computed that about eighty 
thousand people were deprived of the right of testimony by this Act. This 
Methodist Church subsequently broke into a Northern and Southern' Con- 
ference. The Southern Conference is avowedly all pro-slavery, and the 
Northern Conference has still in its communion slaveholding conferences 
and members. 

Of the Northern Conferences, one of the largest, the Baltimore, passed 
the following : 

“ Resolved , That this Conference disclaims having any fellowship with 
abolitionism. On the contrary, while it is determined to maintain its well- 
known and long-established position, by keeping the travelling preachers 
composing its own body free from slavery, it is also determined not to hold 
connection with any ecclesiastical body that shall make non-slaveholding a 
condition of membership in the church, but to stand by and maintain the 
discipline as it is.” 

The following extract is made from an address of the Philadelphia An- 
nual Conference to the Societies under its care, dated Wilmington, Delaware, 
April 7, 1847 : 

“ If the plan of separation gives us the pastoral care of you, it remains 
to inquire whether we have done anything, as a conference, or as men, to 
forfeit your confidence and affection. We are not advised that even in the 
great excitement which has distressed you for some months past, any one 
has impeached our moral conduct, or charged us with unsoundness in doc- 
trine, or corruption or tyranny in the administration of discipline. But we 
learn that the simple cause of the unhappy excitement among you is, that 
some suspect us, or affect to suspect us, of being abolitionists. Yet no par- 
ticular act of the Conference, or any particular member thereof, is adduced 
as the ground of the erroneous and injurious suspicion. We would ask you, 
brethren, whether the conduct of our ministry among you for sixty years 
past ought not to be sufficient to protect us from this charge. Whether the 
question we have been accustomed, for a few years past, to put to candidates 
for admission among us, namely, Are you an abolitionist? and, without 
each one answered in the negative, he was not received, ought not to pro- 
tect us from the charge. Whether the action of the last Conference on this 
particular matter ought not to satisfy any fair and candid mind that we are 
not, and do not desire to be, abolitionists. * * * * We cannot see 

how we can be regarded as abolitionists, without the ministers of the Meth- 
odist Episcopal Church South being considered in the same light. * * * 

“ Wishing you all heavenly benedictions, we are, dear brethren, yours, 
in Christ Jesus, J. P. Durbin, 

J. Kennaday, 

Ignatius T. Cooper, Committee.' 
William H. Gilder, 

JosErn Castle, 


362 


APPENDIX. 


These facts sufficiently define the position of the Methodist church. The 
history is melancholy, but instructive. The history of the Presbyterian 
church is also of interest. 

In 1793, the following note to the eighth commandment was inserted in 
the Book of Discipline, as expressing the doctrine of the church upon slave- 
holding : 

“ 1 Tim. 1 : 10. — The law is made for man-stealers. This crime among 
the Jews exposed the perpetrators of it to capital punishment (Exodus 21 : 
15) ; and the apostle here classes them with sinners of the first rank. The 
word he uses, in its original import, comprehends all who are concerned in 
bringing any of the human race into slavery, or in retaining them in it. 
Hominum fures, qui servos vel liberos , abducunt, retinent, vendunt, vel 
emunt. Stealers of men are all those who bring off slaves or freemen, and 
keep, sell, or buy them. To steal a free man, says Grotius, is the high- 
est kind of theft. In other instances, we only steal human property ; but 
when we steal or retain men in slavery, we seize those who, in common with 
ourselves, are constituted by the original grant lords of the earth.” 

No rules* of church discipline were enforced, and members whom this 
passage declared guilty of this crime remained undisturbed in its com- 
munion, as ministers and elders. This inconsistency was obviated in 1816 
by expunging the passage from the Book of Discipline. In 1818 it adopted 
an expression of its views on slavery. This document is a long one, con- 
ceived and written in a very Christian spirit. The Assembly’s Digest says, 
page 341, that it was unanimously adopted. The following is its testimony 
as to the nature of slavery : 

“ We consider the voluntary enslaving of one part of the human race by 
another as a gross violation of the most precious and sacred rights of human 
nature, as utterly inconsistent with the law of God which requires us to 
love our neighbor as ourselves, and as totally irreconcilable with the spirit 
and principles of the Gospel of Christ, which enjoin that ‘ all things what- 
soever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ Slav- 
ery creates a paradox in the moral system. It exhibits rational, accounta- 
ble, and immortal beings in such circumstances as scarcely to leave them 
the power of moral action. It exhibits them as dependent on the will of 
others whether they shall receive religious instruction ; whether they shall 
know and worship the true God ; whether they shall enjoy the ordinances 
of the Gospel ; whether they shall perform the duties and cherish the 
endearments of husbands and wives, parents and children, neighbors and 
friends ; whether they shall preserve their chastity and purity, or regard 
the dictates of justice and humanity. Such are some of the consequences 
of slavery, — consequences not imaginary, but which connect themselves 
with its very existence. The evils to which the slave is always exposed 
often take place in fact, and in their very worst degree and form ; and 
where all of them do not take place, — as we rejoice to say that in many 


APPENDIX. 


363 


instances, through the influence of the principles of humanity and religion 
on the minds of masters, they do not, — still the slave is deprived of his 
natural right, degraded as a human being, and exposed to the danger of 
passing into the hands of a master who may inflict upon him all the hard- 
ships and injuries which inhumanity and avarice may suggest.” 

This language was surely decided, and it was unanimously adopted by 
slaveholders and non-slaveholders. Certainly one might think the time of 
redemption was drawing nigh. The declaration goes on to say : 

“It is manifestly the duty of all Christians who enjoy the light of the 
present day, when the inconsistency of slavery both with the dictates of 
humanity and religion has been demonstrated, and is generally seen and 
acknowledged, to use honest, earnest, unwearied endeavors to correct the 
errors of former times, and as speedily as possible fo efface this blot on our 
holy religion, and to obtain the complete abolition of slavery through- 
out Christendom and throughout the world.” 

Here we have the Presbyterian Church, slaveholding and non-slavehold- 
ing, virtually formed into one great abolition society , as we have seen the 
Methodist was. 

The Assembly then goes on to state that the slaves are not at present pre- 
pared to be free, — that they tenderly sympathize with the portion of the 
church and country that has had this evil entailed upon them, where, as 
they say, “a great and the most virtuous part of the community abhor 
slavery, and wish its extermination.” But they exhort them to com- 
mence immediately the work of instructing slaves, with a view to preparing 
them for freedom, and to let no greater delay take place than “ a regard to 
public welfare indispensably demands;” “to be governed by no other 
considerations than an honest and impartial regard to the happiness of the 
injured party, uninfluenced by the expense and inconvenience which such 
regard may involve.” It warns against “ unduly extending this plea of 
necessity ,” — against making it a cover for the love and practice of slav- 
ery. It ends by recommending that any one who shall sell a fellow-Chris- 
tian without his consent be immediately disciplined and suspended. 

If we consider that this was unanimously adopted by slaveholders and 
all, and grant, as we certainly do, that it was adopted in all honesty and 
good faith, we shall surely expect something from it. We should expect 
forthwith the organizing of a set of common schools for the slave children ; 
for an efficient religious ministration ; for an entire discontinuance of 
trading in Christian slaves ; for laws which make the family relations 
sacred. Was any such thing done or attempted ? Alas ! Two years after 
this, came the admission of Missouri, and the increase of demand in 
the Southern slave-market, and the internal slave-trade. Instead of 
school-teachers, they had slave-traders ; instead of gathering schools , they 
gathered slave-cojfles. Instead of building school-houses, they built slave- 
II. 31 * 


364 


APPENDIX. 


pens and slave-prisons, jails, barracoons, factories, or whatever the trade 
pleases to term them ; and so went the plan of gradual emancipation. 

In 1834, sixteen years after, a committee of the Synod of Kentucky, in 
which state slavery is generally said to exist in its mildest form, appointed 
to make a report on the condition of the slaves, gave the following picture 
of their condition. First, as to their spiritual condition, they say : 

“ After making all reasonable allowances, our colored population can be 
considered, at the most, but semi-heathen. 

“ Brutal stripes, and all the various kinds of personal indignities, are 
not the only species of cruelty which slavery licenses. The law does not 
recognize the family relations of the slave, and extends to him no protec- 
tion in the enjoyment of domestic endearments. The members of a slave- 
family may be forcibly separated, so that they shall never more meet until 
the final judgment. And cupidity often induces the masters to practise what 
the law allows. Brothers and sisters, parents and children, husbands and 
wives, are torn asunder, and permitted to see each other no more. These 
acts are daily occurring in the midst of us. The shrieks and the agony 
often witnessed on such occasions proclaim with a trumpet-tongue the 
iniquity and cruelty of our system. The cries of these sufferers go up to 
the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth. There is not a neighborhood where these 
heartrending scenes are not displayed. There is not a village or road that 
does not behold the sad procession of manacled outcasts, whose chains and 
mournful countenances tell that they are exiled by force from all that their 
hearts hold dear. Our church, years ago, raised its voice of solemn warn- 
ing against this flagrant violation of every principle of mercy, justice, and 
humanity. Yet we blush to announce to you and to the world, that this 
warning has been often disregarded, even by those who hold to our com- 
munion. Cases have occurred, in our own denomination, where professors 
of the religion of mercy have torn the mother from her children, and sent 
her into a merciless and returnless exile. Yet acts of discipline have rarely 
followed such conduct.” 

Hon. James G. Birney, for years a resident of Kentucky, in his pam- 
phlet, amends the word rarely by substituting never. What could show 
more plainly the utter inefficiency of the past act of the Assembly, and the 
necessity of adopting some measures more efficient ? In 1835, therefore, the 
subject was urged upon the General Assembly, entreating them to carry out 
the principles and designs they had avowed in 1818. 

Mr. Stuart, of Illinois, in a speech he made upon the subject, said : 

“ I hope this Assembly are prepared to come out fully and declare their 
sentiments, that slaveholding is a most flagrant and heinous sin. Let us 
not pass it by in this indirect way, while so many thousands and tens of 
thousands of our fellow-creatures are writhing under the lash, often 
inflicted, too, by ministers and elders of the Presbyterian church. 


APPENDIX. 


365 


“ In this church a man may take a free-born child, force it away from its 
parents, to whom God gave it in charge, saying, ‘ Bring It up for me,’ and 
sell it as a beast, or hold it in perpetual bondage, and not only escape corpo- 
real punishment, but really be esteemed an excellent Christian. Nay, even 
ministers of the Gospel and doctors of divinity may engage in this unholy 
traffic, and yet sustain their high and holy calling. 

* * * * * *-* * 

“ Elders, ministers, and doctors of divinity, are, with both hands, 
engaged in the practice.” 

One would have thought facts like these, stated in a body of Christians, 
were enough to wake the dead ; but, alas ! we can become accustomed to 
very awful things. No action was taken upon these remonstrances, 
except to refer them to a committee, to be reported on at the next session, in 
1836. 

The moderator of the Assembly in 1836 was a slaveholder, Dr. T. S. 
Witherspoon, the same who said to the editor of the Emancipator , “ I 
draw my warrant from the scriptures of the Old and New Testament to 
hold my slaves in bondage. The principle of holding the heathen in bond- 
age is recognized by God. When the tardy process of the law is too long in 
redressing our grievances, we at the South have adopted the summary 
process of Judge Lynch.” 

The majority of the committee appointed made a report as follows : 

“ Whereas the subject of slavery is inseparably connected with the laws 
of many of the states in this Union, with which it is by no means proper 
for an ecclesiastical judicature to interfere, and involves many considerations 
in regard to which great diversity of opinion and intensity of feeling are 
known to exist in the churches represented in this Assembly ; and whereas 
there is great reason to believe that any action on the part of this Assem- 
bly, in reference to this subject, would tend to distract and divide our 
churches, and would probably in no wise promote the benefit of those whose 
welfare is immediately contemplated in the memorials in question : 

“ Therefore, Resolved, 

“1. That it is not expedient for the Assembly to take any further order 
ju relation to this subject. 

“ 2. That as the notes which have been expunged from our public formu- 
laries, and which some of the memorials referred to the committee request 
to hav6 restored, were introduced irregularly, never had the sanction of the 
church, and, tnerefore, never possessed any authority, the General Assem- 
bly has no power, nor would they think it expedient, to assign them a place 
in the authorized standards of the church.” 

The minority of the committee, the Rev. Messrs. Dickey and Beman, 
reported as follows : 

“ Resolved 1. That the buying, selling, or holding a human being as 


3GG 


APPENDIX. 


property, is in the sight of God a heinous sin, and ought to subject the doer t 
of it to the censures of the church. 

« 2. That it is the duty of every one, and especially of every Christian, 
who may be involved in this sin, to free himself from its entanglement with- 
out delay. 

“ 3. That it is the duty of every one, especially of every Christian, in the 
meekness and firmness of the Gospel, to plead the cause of the poor and 
needy, by testifying against the principle and practice of slaveholding, aud 
to use his best endeavors to deliver the church of God from the evil, and to 
bring about the emancipation of the slaves in these United States, and 
throughout the world.” 

The slaveholding delegates, to the number of forty-eight, met apart , and 
Resolved , 

“ That if the General Assembly shall undertake to exercise authority on 
the subject of slavery, so as to make it an- immorality, or shall in any way 
declare that Christians are criminal in holding slaves, that a declaration 
shall be presented by the Southern delegation declining their jurisdiction in 
the case, and our determination not to submit to such decision.” 

In view of these conflicting reports, the Assembly resolved as follows : 

“ Inasmuch as the constitution of the Presbyterian church, in its prelim- 
inary and fundamental principles, declares that no church judicatories 
ought to pretend to make laws to bind the conscience in virtue of their own 
authority ; and as the urgency of the business of the Assembly, and the 
shortness of the time during which they can continue in session, render it 
impossible to deliberate and decide judiciously on the subject of slavery in 
its relation to the church, therefore, Resolved, that this whole subject be 
indefinitely postponed.” 

The amount of the slave-trade at the time when the General Assembly 
refused to act upon the subject of slavery at all may be inferred from the 
following items. The Virginia Times, in an article published in this very 
year of 1836, estimated the number of slaves exported for sale from that 
state alone, during the twelve months preceding, at forty thousand. The 
Natchez (Miss.) Courier says that in the same year the States of Alabama, 
Missouri, and Arkansas, imported two hundred and fifty thousaud slaves 
from the more northern states. If we deduct from these all who may be 
supposed to have emigrated with their masters, still what an immense trade 
is here indicated ! 

Two years after, the General Assembly, by a sudden and very unexpected 
movement, passed a vote exscinding, without trial, from the communion of 
the church, four synods, comprising the most active and decided anti-slavery 
portions of the church. The reasons alleged were, doctrinal differences and 
ecclesiastical practices inconsistent with Presbyterianism. By this act about 
five hundred ministers and sixty thousand members were cut off from the 
Presbyterian church. 


APPENDIX. 


367 


That portion of the Presbyterian church called New School, considering 
this act unjust, refused to assent to it, joined the exscinded synods, and 
formed themselves into the New School General Assembly. In this com- 
munion only three slaveholding presbyteries remained ; in the old there 
were between thirty and forty. 

The course of the Old School Assembly, after the separation, in relation 
to the subject of slavery, may be best expressed by quoting one of their 
resolutions, passed in 1845. Having some decided anti-slavery members in 
its body, and being, moreover, addressed on the subject of slavery by asso- 
ciated bodies, they presented, in this year, the following deliberate statement 
of their policy. (Minutes for 1845, p. 18.) 

“ Resolved , 1. That the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church 
in the United States was originally organized, and has since continued the 
bond of union in the church, upon the conceded principle that the existence 
of domestic slavery, under the circumstances in which it is found in the 
Southern portion of the country, is no bar to Christian communion. 

“ 2. That the petitions that ask the Assembly to make the holding of 
slaves in itself a matter of discipline do virtually require this judicatory to 
dissolve itself, and abandon the organization under which, by the Divine 
blessing, it has so long prospered. The tendency is evidently to separate 
the Northern from the Southern portion of the church — a result which 
every good Christian must deplore, as tending to the dissolution of the 
Union of our beloved country, and which every enlightened Christian will 
oppose, as bringing about a ruinous and unnecessary schism between breth- 
ren who maintain a common faith. 

“ Yeas, Ministers and Elders, 168. 

“Nays, “ “ “ 13.” 

It is scarcely necessary to add a comment to this very explicit declara- 
tion. It is the plainest possible disclaimer of any protest against slavery ; 
the plainest possible statement that the existence of the ecclesiastical organ- 
ization is of more importance than all the moral and social considerations 
which are involved in a full defence and practice of American slavery. 

The next year a large number of petitions and remonstrances were 
presented, requesting the Assembly to utter additional testimony against 
slavery. 

In reply to the petitions, the General Assembly reaffirmed all their former 
testimonies on the subject of slavery for sixty years back, anu also affirmed 
that the previous year’s declaration must not be understood as a retraction 
of that testimony ; in other words, they expressed it as their opinion, in the 
words of 1818, that slavery is “ wholly opposed to the law of God,” and 
“ totally irreconcilable with the precepts of the Gospel of Christ and 
yet that they “ had formed their church organization upon the conceded 
principle that the existence of it, under the circumstances in which it is 
found in the Southern States of the Union, is no bar to Christian com 
munion.” 


368 


APPENDIX. 


Some members protested against this action. (Minutes, 1846. Overture 
No. 17.) 

Great hopes were at first entertained of the New School body. Asa body, 
it was composed mostly of anti-slavery men. It had in it those synods 
whose anti-slavery opinions and actions had been, to say the least, one very 
efficient cause for their excision from the Church. It had only three 
slaveholding Presbyteries. The power was all in its own hands. Now, if 
ever, was their time to cut this loathsome encumbrance wholly adrift, and 
stand up, in this age of concession and conformity to the world, a purely 
protesting church, free from all complicity with this most dreadful national 
immorality. 

On the first session of the General Assembly this course was most vehe- 
mently urged, by many petitions and memorials. These memorials were 
referred to a committee of decided anti-slavery men. The argument on one 
side was, that the time was now come to take decided measures to cut free 
wholly from all pro-slavery complicity, and avow their principles with 
decision, even though it should repel all such churches from their commu- 
nion as were not prepared for immediate emancipation. 

On the other hand, the majority of the committee were urged by oppos- 
ing considerations. The brethren from slave states made to them repre- 
sentations somewhat alike to these : “ Brethren, our hearts are with you. 
We are with you in faith, in charity, in prayer. We sympathized in the 
injury that had been done you by excision. We stood by you then, and are 
ready to stand by you still. We have no sympathy with the party that 
have expelled you, and we do not wish to go back to them. As to this 
matter of slavery, we do not differ from you. We consider it an evil. We 
mourn and lament over it. We are trying, by gradual and peaceable means, 
to exclude it from our churches. We are going as far in advance of the 
sentiment of our churches as we consistently can. We cannot come up to 
more decided action without losing our hold over them, and, as we think, 
throwing back the cause of emancipation. If you begin in this decided 
manner, we cannot hold our churches in the union ; they will divide, and 
go to the Old School.” 

Here was a very strong plea, made by good and sincere men. It was an 
appeal, too, to the most generous feelings of the heart. It was, in effect, 
saying, “ Brothers, we stood by you, and fought your battles, when every- 
thing was going against you ; and, now that you have the power in your 
hands, are you going to use it so as to cast us out? ” 

These men, strong anti-slavery men as they were, were affected. One 
member of the committee foresaw and feared the result. He felt and sug- 
gested that the course proposed conceded the whole question. The majority 
thought, on the whole, that it was best to postpone the subject. The com- 
mittee reported that the applicants, for reasons satisfactory to themselves, 
had withdrawn their papers. 


APPENDIX. 


369 


The next year, In 1839, the subject was resumed ; and it was again urged 
that the Assembly should take high, and decided, and unmistakable ground; 
and certainly, if we consider that all this time not a single church had 
emancipated its slaves, and that the power of the institution was every- 
where stretching and growing and increasing, it would certainly seem that 
something more efficient was necessary than a general understanding that 
the church agreed with the testimony delivered in 1818. It was strongly 
represented that it was time something was done. This year the Assem- 
bly decided to refer the subject to Presbyteries, to do what they deemed 
advisable. The words employed were these : “ Solemnly referring the 
whole subject to the lower judicatories, to take such action as in their 
judgment is most judicious, and adapted to remove the evil.” The Rev. 
George Beecher moved to insert the word moral before evil ; they 
declined. * 

This brought, in 1840, a much larger number of memorials and peti- 
tions ; and very strong attempts were made by the abolitionists to obtain 
some decided action. 

The committee this year referred to what had been done last year, and 
declared it inexpedient to jio anything further. The subject was indefinitely 
postponed. At this time it was resolved that the Assembly should meet only 
once in three years. Accordingly, it did not meet till 1843. In 1843, 
several memorials were again presented, and some resolutions offered to the 
Assembly, of which this was one (Minutes of the General Assembly for 
1843, p. 15) : 

“ Resol. ed, That we affectionately and earnestly urge upon the Ministers, 
Sessions, Presbyteries, and Synods, connected with this Assembly, that they 
treat this as all other sins of great magnitude ; and by a diligent, kind, and 
faithful application of the means which God has given them, by instruction, 
remonstrance, reproof, and effective discipline, seek to purify the church of 
this great iniquity.” 

This resolution they declined. They passed the following : 

“ Whereas there is in this Assembly great diversity of opinion as to the 
proper and best mode of action on the subject of slavery ; and whereas, in 
such circumstances, any expression of sentiment would carry with it but 
little weight, as it would be passed by a small majority, and must operate 
to produce alienation and division ; and whereas the Assembly of 1839, with 
great unanimity, referred this whole subject to the lower judicatories, to 
take such order as in their judgment might be adapted to remove the evil ; 
— Resolved, That the Assembly do not think it for the edification of the 
church for this body to take any action on the subject.” 

They, however, passed the following : 

“ Resolved, That the fashionable amusement of promiscuous dancing is 


Goodell’s History of the Great Struggle between Freedom and Slavery. 


37 " 


APPENDIX. 


so entirely unscriptural, ^d eminently and exclusively that of * the world 
which lieth in wickedness,’ and so wholly inconsistent with the spirit of 
Christ, and with that propriety of Christian deportment and that purity 
of heart which his followers are bound to maintain, as to render it not 
only improper and injurious for professing Christians either to partake 
in it, or to qualify their children for it, by teaching them the ‘art,’ but 
also to call for the faithful and judicious exercise of discipline on the part 
of Church Sessions, when any of the members of their churches have 
been guilty.” 

Thus has the matter gone on from year to year, ever since. 

In 1856 we are sorry to say that we can report no improvement in the 
action of the great ecclesiastical bodies on the subject of slavery, but 
rather deterioration. Notwithstanding all the aggressions of slavery, and 
notwithstanding the constant developments of its horrible influence in cor- 
rupting and degrading the character of the natron, as seen in the mean, 
vulgar, assassin-like outrages in our national Congress, and the brutal, 
blood-thirsty, fiend-like proceedings in Kansas, connived at and protected, 
if not directly sanctioned and in part instigated, by our national govern- 
ment ; — notwithstanding all this, the great ecclesiastical organizations 
seem less disposed than ever before to take any efficient action on the 
subject. This was manifest in the General Conference of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church North, held at Indianapolis during the spring of the 
present year, and in the General Assemblies of the Presbyterian Church, held 
at New York at about the same time. 

True, a very large minority in the Methodist Conference resisted with 
great energy the action, or rather no action, of the majority, and gave 
fearless utterance to the most noble sentiments ; but in the final result the 
numbers were against them. 

The same thing was true to some extent in the New School Presby- 
terian General Assembly, though here the anti-slavery utterances were, on 
the whole, inferior to those in the Methodist Conference. In both bodies 
the Packthreads, and Cushings, and Calkers, and Bonnies, are numerous, 
and have the predominant influence, while the Dicksons and the Ruskins 
are fewer, and have far less power. The representations, therefore, in the 
body of the work, though very painful, are strictly just. Individuals, 
everywhere in the free states, and in some of the slave states, are most 
earnestly struggling against the prevailing corruption ; but the churches, 
as such, are, for the most part, still on the wrong side. There are churches 
free from this stain, but they are neither numerous nor popular. 

For an illustration of the lynching of Father Dickson, see “ Key to Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin,” Part III., Chapter VIII. 

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